In Eaton
by Kayasuri-n
Summary: Vincent would just like to break his curse, Rose would like adventure, and Gaston wants the girl. It might be a tale as old as time, but that doesn't mean the story won't change. Yes, there's an actual update. Surprise!
1. A Curse Upon the Castle

**Chapter One  
****Vincent**

The young lord of Eaton muffled a laugh behind one hand. Tomorrow was his tenth birthday, but he wasn't quite ready to go to bed. His valet insisted, however, and had gone ahead to have the bed turned down. Vincent did feel a little sorry for the man, but Vincent was the lord, and his valet was the servant. If Vincent wanted to play hide and seek before bed, then he'd play hide and go seek.

The only problem was Nurse. He'd outgrown needing her, but she was still the only servant with any real authority over him. If she caught him out of bed, she'd be furious. He needed a hiding place that would fool Nurse as well as the other servants. An in a flash, he had it. The door keeper had the night off, for tomorrow would be busy. Vincent could hide behind the screen that shielded the door keeper's pallet, and no one would think to look for him there. It was wood, too, and went from the floor to seven feet up, so no one would see his shadow or his feet. It was perfect.

He hurried to the Great Hall, ducking behind couches in the halls, or into other rooms completely, whenever he heard a servant's footsteps heading towards him. He ended up covered in cobwebs and dust, but that was just part of the adventure, he told himself.

The Great Hall was empty. Vincent settled down on the door keeper's pallet, and leaned back against the wall. From where he sat, he could just see the great clock, if he craned his neck. It was nearing eleven o' clock. Surely his servants would be looking for him now. His valet would be frantic, wringing his hands and sweating. Nurse would be furious, muttering and stomping around.

He saw a few servants run past the Great Hall, but none of them so much as looked in, let alone behind the screen set up in the one corner. Eventually, the servants stopped running by, and Vincent had nothing to keep his attention.

He was tired. It was very late now- midnight. He'd never been up so late before that he could remember. The castle was probably asleep, the search for him put off until morning. Or probably Nurse had told everyone to go to sleep. "A night wherever he's hiding will surely put a stop to this nonsense," he imagined her saying. It sounded like Nurse, anyways.

Without meaning to, he fell into a light doze, chin nearly touching his chest.

A loud knocking woke him up. Blinking hard to try and get his mind working, Vincent couldn't figure out where he was or what the noise was. After some more knocking, he realized someone was pounding on the door in the Great Hall.

"Door keeper, answer that," he snapped, before realizing just where he was. He was in the Great Hall, in the door keeper's customary place. It was the night before his birthday- or very early the morning of his birthday, he couldn't be sure- and someone was knocking on the door. There was no one to answer whoever it was. It might be a guest, and it would be rude to keep them waiting.

Vincent got to his feet and stumbled to the door. He grabbed one of the handles, and pulled. His feet skidded over the polished wood floor, and he grunted. The door was horribly heavy. Still, he should be able to open in. He braced one foot against the other leaf of the door, and continued to tug.

The door cracked open, and then it was a challenge to get it to stop swinging further open. He was busy with that for a minute, before he could look over at his guest.

It was an old hag. Vincent felt disappointed. He'd been hoping for his uncle, maybe, or a cousin, resplendent in the latest fashions.

"Who're you?" he asked.

"Surely you're not the door keeper," the old woman said, not answering his question. "My, you're young."

"I'm not the door keeper, I'm the lord of this castle!" Vincent drew himself to his full height, which was still a foot less then the woman's stooped over posture. "Now, answer me! Who are you?"

"Me?" The old woman chuckled, and waved one crooked claw of a hand. "I'm just a little old woman. Please, sir. Won't you give me food and lodging for the night?"

"No!"

"Why not?" The woman paused, and considered Vincent. "Are you afraid of me?"

"Of course not, peasant." Vincent didn't really know what a peasant was. He'd just heard it used a couple of times before, generally about people who didn't work at the castle. "Anyways, there's no room for you."

"Not even in the servants' quarters, or the kitchen? Please, my good lord, I can pay you." The hag reached into her rags and pulled out a flower. She held it out towards Vincent, and smiled. The expression only made her look more hideous then before.

He studied the flower, but didn't take it. It looked a little like the lilacs in the garden, but there were only eleven purple flowers, and they were bigger then usual. "No, I'm sorry." What did he want a flower for, anyways?

"Please, good sir, reconsider. And remember, beauty lies within."

Now just what did _that_ mean? "No, old hag!" Vincent folded his arms. "Now go away and bother someone else!"

"So!" the hag thundered. "I can see that you have no love in your heart!" Even as Vincent watched, the hag straightened, before he was blinded by a flash of light brighter then anything he'd ever seen before.

When the spots cleared from his eyes, he saw some great princess standing over him. She was tall, slender, with pale gold hair curled and loose down her back, wearing a dress of the latest fashion in dark silver. In one hand she held the flower the hag had offered him.

"Wh-what's going on?" Vincent tried to back away, and tripped over his own feet. "Who are you? What do you want with me?"

The woman stepped closer, and pulled a slender, straight stick from somewhere in her dress. "You, cold hearted boy, shall be punished."

"What'd I do?"

The woman ignored him. "You shall be cursed until you can find it in yourself to love another. If you can earn her love in return, the curse shall be broken. If, however, you cannot manage this by your twenty-first birthday, then the curse shall never be lifted and you will be doomed forever to live as a beast!"

The woman pointed her stick at Vincent. His eyes widened, and then he fell to the ground, screaming.

Everything hurt. It felt like some vindictive God had grabbed him by his head and feet and was stretching him out. He could feel himself getting bigger, his muscles swelling. He'd always been a scrawny boy- well, obviously not any more. His clothes only stretched so far before the seams burst and the ruined cloth fell away.

His screaming grew deeper, and hoarse, until he sounded like one of the field laborers. One giant itch covered his body, and then it ended. So did the minor chill coming from the open door.

The pain finally stopped, but not before he felt strange things happening to his spine and feet. Eyes closed, he panted against the floor, waiting for whatever was to happen next.

He heard the woman- no, the sorceress- step closer. There was a rustle of cloth as she leaned over. "Very well, Beast. Now, a curse upon this castle and your lands. This place is now your prison. You shall have no company, nothing to stave off loneliness. Your servants are gone, boy, but don't worry, you shall be cared for. But not by humans." More cloth rustled, and then as he opened his eyes, the lilac was dropped in front of his face. It didn't hit the floor, but floated. "Good day, _Beast_."

Vincent closed his eyes and gave in to unconsciousness. It seemed the best option all around.

--

When he woke up, the first thing he saw was the flower, floating in the air.

With a strangled yell, Vincent recoiled from the thing, raising one arm as if to defend against a blow. A large, hairy brown arm. He yelped, and tried to leap to his feet, only to crash to the floor.

_What had she done to him?_ Vincent lifted one hand to his face, and shuddered. It was larger then his hand had a right to be, covered in coarse brown fur, except the palm, which had a leathery pad like a dog's paw. His fingers, he noticed in a detached way, were tipped with sharp black claws.

His other hand was exactly the same. His arms were big, thick with muscle and covered with more of the coarse brown fur. His shirt hung in tatters, barely managing to stay on his suddenly large frame.

Ignoring the flower, he tried to stand up and move to a mirror, but he stumbled and nearly fell again. He looked down at himself, and nearly yelled in terror. His britches were ruined, but that wasn't what frightened him. His legs looked human- if large and covered in fur- but his feet had become like a dog's! And- when he craned his neck- he could see a dog's tail, sprouting over the top of what was let of his britches.

_What had she done to him?_ Hysteria was threatening. Vincent tried to crawl towards the nearest mirror, but it hurt his knees. It was easier to walk on all fours, like an animal. His legs and arms were mostly even in length, with his legs a little shorter. It was certainly easier to move around.

He had to lever himself up using the wall. His claws dug into the wood, gouging chips from the surface, but he didn't care. He had to see- and then he saw, and was horrified.

His face had changed. His nose had been squashed mostly flat, giving him a bestial appearance that wasn't helped by the fur. Horns curled up from his forehead and back over his head, ending in sharp points. His ears were pointed and kept twitching. Only his eyes had stayed the same, human in shape and color.

"Oh, please, God, no…" he whispered, but even his voice was different now, as deep as a grown man's, and rough like he had been talking for hours.

What had he become?

…_A beast…_

Vincent shuddered, and, on his hands and feet, walked back to get the lilac. He was cursed. If this thing was going to be part of how he'd break the spell, he'd better find some way of keeping it safe.

Somehow, a table had made it to his room, with a bell jar atop it. Vincent stared at the new piece of furniture, and then sighed. His servants were gone, he could tell that much, but the sorceress _had_ said he would be taken care of…

He placed the flower under the bell jar, and stared at it. Then, with another shudder, he looked away. The balcony. He had to get out outside- not out of the castle, necessarily, but just _out_.

The castle grounds had changed. The forest had become dark and forbidding, the gardens were now a maze of tangled bushes and long grass. The castle itself had gone from a pale colored stone to dark, rough granite.

Leaning against the stone railing, Vincent cradled his head in his hands. He tried not to flinch when his claws scraped against his horns, but he didn't quite manage.

**Rose**

Rose couldn't stop looking around. Such a small town, nothing like Grantham, which was probably three times the size of Waltham on the Wolds. All the houses had thatch for roofing, instead of wood or slate tiles. There was so much stone used, too! There were stones for the fences, and stones for the lower halves of buildings, so different from the wood buildings in Grantham! And so many animals, too! She'd already seen a whole flock- was that right?- of cows, and there were dogs and cats and chickens everywhere! It was all so exciting!

"Well, my little flower, how do you like Eaton?" Morris, Rose's father, asked. He clucked at their little donkey, urging it away from a tempting flowerbed.

"This isn't Eaton," she said. "This is Waltham on the Wolds." She smiled, though, and giggled. Morris laughed, and shook his head.

"Such a stickler for details," he said.

Rose nodded. Waltham on the Wolds was part of the Eaton lands. It was ruled by a lord, some very distant cousin to the king, but over saw by, well, no one, really. Morris had explained it all to Rose very carefully, since she'd asked so many questions. They would still have to pay their taxes, but there was no ruling lord to worry about. It would be so much simpler then Grantham, where you needed permission to do just about everything.

Morris pulled the donkey to a stop in front of a large, two story building, and set the wheel brake. "Here we are. This would be the tavern, Rose. I'll just step in for a moment and be right out."

"Alright, papa." Rose shifted on the bench seat, and continued to look around. There were people, all out doing something. She managed to get a few odd looks, but for the most part people seemed content to simply glance at her once and then get on with things. She didn't see any girls her age, though.

"Who're you?"

Rose looked over, and blinked down at a grubby boy. He seemed friendly enough, she thought. He had dirt and twigs in his hair, which made him look funny, but his blue eyes were bright and he was smiling at her. She smiled back.

"I'm Rose. My papa and I just moved here. He's the blacksmith- and he invents things too!" She pointed at the tavern. "He just stepped in there to talk to someone, I think it was about our house."

"Probably. I'm Gaston- my Père owns the tavern. He's probably the one your Père is talking to."

"I'll take your word for it." Rose clasped her hands in her lap, and tilted her head. Now what? She'd had several friends back in Grantham, but they'd all been girls. Surely boys couldn't be too different, could they? "What do you do around here? For fun, I mean," she asked.

"Well, it depends. Usually I go out into the woods or ride my horse. Do you like horses?" Gaston climbed up onto the wagon, and sat down next to Rose. His clothes were very dirty, she noticed, and one knee in his trousers was ripped.

"I like them sometimes," she said. "What else?"

"In the summer we can go swimming, and Père said I could learn how to hunt this fall! And there's always the festivals- there's the harvest festival, and we have a Christmas celebration, and there's a festival in spring, just before we start planting. And there's one in summer, too, I don't know what we celebrate then but its lots of fun." Gaston peered at Rose's face. "Do you have a horse of your own?"

"N-no, I don't." She leaned back, a little, and looked down. Did all boys talk so quickly, or was it just Gaston?

"You should get one," he said. "Then you and I can go riding together. I'll show you everywhere!"

"I can't. I'm sorry." Rose felt her face heating up. She glanced over at Gaston, who looked surprised- and a little disgusted. He probably thought she was afraid to ride or something, she thought, and nearly sighed. "It's my ankle. I broke it- it never healed right- I can't really… ride." Or run, or take stairs very easily, or- sometimes she got very tired of having to be so careful.

"Which ankle?" Gaston asked, and then peered down at her feet, as if he could tell that way. He couldn't- her feet were covered by her skirts, and both ankles looked normal.

"My left," she said, and sighed. "So I can't ride side-saddle, you see." Not that girls were supposed to ride astride. It was so annoying. Old Jenkins, who had taught her to ride, had taught her astride riding, and it was so much more secure then side-saddle.

"Well, that's simple enough to fix. Get a saddle so you can use your right leg." Gaston nodded, once. "Simple enough."

"But then you have to train the horse to accept cues from a right leg instead of a left," Rose pointed out. "I don't know how to do that. Do you?"

"No, but I bet Phillip knows. He owns the inn and trains horses. He's sold hunting horses to lords- oh, everywhere! And he's real smart about them, too. I could introduce you." Gaston threw his shoulders back and lifted his chin. "He would train a horse special for you if I asked him. I'm his best helper."

"Oh, do you work at the inn?"

"In the stables, so I don't have to pay to keep my horse there. Tristan's a beauty. You should see him."

"Maybe I will," Rose said. She looked over at the tavern door, and grinned. "Oh, papa! Come and meet my new friend, Gaston!"

Morris walked over, accompanied by a tall, broad shouldered man who looked so much like Gaston Rose decided he was either Gaston's father, or a much older brother.

"It's nice to meet you, Gaston," Morris said, and held out his hand. Gaston solemnly shook it.

"It's nice to meet you too, mister."

The older version of Gaston folded his arms. "Why are you not at Phillip's?" he asked. "I thought you were working there today."

"Oh, I am Père, but I wanted to say hello to Rose first." Gaston looked back at Rose. "Maybe I'll talk to you tomorrow? I could come over and then I could take you to Phillip so you could talk to him about maybe getting a horse?"

"Gaston!" Gaston's father smacked the boy upside the head. "That is enough of that. Get on with you, I have to show monsieur Endicott to his new home."

Gaston leapt down from the cart with an ease Rose admired and envied. "I'll see you tomorrow, Rose!" He waved as he jogged down the road, towards a two story building with a stable on the side. The inn, she decided.

Morris got back up onto the cart, and released the brake. "Lead on, good sir," he said.

Gaston's father nodded, and started walking. Morris got the donkey walking, and smiled down at Rose.

"It's good that you have a new friend," he said, "but what's this about a horse?"

"Oh, papa! Gaston had such a wonderful idea!" Rose clasped her hands together before her chest. "He thinks that if I had a side-saddle made so it was my right leg giving the cues, Phillip the horse trainer could teach a horse to accept it!"

"Ah, that's why you looked so happy!" Morris chuckled. "Mister D'lsigny, do you think this Phillip fellow could do that?"

Gaston's father looked back over his shoulder. "I do believe so, monsieur. Monsieur Phillip has a good hand with horses."

"Well." Morris chuckled. "I suppose I'll be talking to him soon enough."

Rose took a deep breath and smiled. Oh, to ride a horse again!

0O0

The very next morning, Rose let Gaston into the new house when he pounded on the door. "Come in, come in!" she said. "Papa wants to talk to Phillip too, so we have to wait for him."

"Alright." Gaston very obviously looked around the sitting room. "It's really empty, isn't it?"

"We weren't able to bring very much of our furniture here with us," Rose said, a little sadly. They hadn't been able to bring any of her books, either. "But Papa says we'll soon be able to buy new things, so I suppose I won't miss anything too much."

"Don't worry, Rose! We really need a blacksmith here, so your Père will never be out of work! You'll have all sorts of furniture and things you don't need before long, you'll see!"

Rose smiled. "Thank you Gaston. You're a good friend."

Morris stepped out of the kitchen. "Ah, I thought I heard you come in!" He brushed his hands on his trousers. "Give me a moment and we'll go, alright?"

Gaston nodded, and clasped his hands behind his back. "You'll like it here, Rose," he promised. "You'll see."

"I'm sure you're right, Gaston." Rose took a deep breath and looked around the mostly empty sitting room. She could just imagine bookshelves against the one wall, a comfortable couch, maybe a pet cat if she could convince her father… "I'm sure you're right."

**End Notes**

_Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Several things now that I've started this new story. First- this is something that's lurked in the back of my mind for, oh, probably close to two, maybe three years now (along with a werewolf-Beauty/anthromorphic-cat-Beast, but I haven't figured out how to make it work just yet). It will be following the Disney plot, with a few changes. Not sure how significant they'll be, but we'll see._

_Alright, about the names and before anyone reviews to tell me the Beast's name is really Adam- I know. I just happen to prefer Vincent over Adam. Furthermore, Adam is kind of a bland name. Vincent, on the other hand, is not only somewhat less heard then Adam, it also gives a few nicknames._

_Morris/Maurice- Morris is just the anglicized version of Maurice. Since this is set in England, his name's English. Gaston and his father are French immigrants, however, so they get to keep their French names and the occasional French word and phrase. (D'lsigny was just chosen because it looked interesting. If there's an official last name for Gaston, and you know it, let me know and I'll edit this to fit, alright?) Belle is now Rose because I don't think any reasonable father is going to name his daughter Beauty, and Rose is the name of a beautiful flower._

_And finally, there's a method to my madness in making Morris a blacksmith as well as an inventor. You'll see later. Anyways, before this note gets too long, let me just give you a reminder to please, leave a review, tell me what you think. Goodbye for now, I'm just going to run off and start writing the second chapter._


	2. Such a Quiet Village

**Chapter Two  
****Ten Years Later  
****Rose**

Rose walked to the book shop, as quickly as she could. Even so, she could not help but enviously watch the villagers going about their day. It was so obvious that they felt that they _belonged_. Everyone had something to do; everyone knew each other by name, everyone just seemed so _happy_.

A few of the village women walked past, their baskets full of clothing that needed mending or patching. Rose followed them with her eyes, right up until they reached a friend's house and went inside.

She sighed, and continued on to the book shop. She passed a few children playing jump rope, and smiled at the sight, but didn't stop. The hearty comradeship everyone seemed to be feeling today just made her want to sigh and retreat to one of her books. It was a pity she couldn't take her mare, Cinnamon, out for a ride, but the clouds were threatening rain.

She was so tired of rain.

The book shop was warm and cozy, smelling of books and dust. Maggie, the shop's cat, sprawled on top of the single table, lazily flicking her tail. Rose had to simply pause in the doorway and breathe in the scent of _books_, scanning the shelves. There were so many books to read, even when one considered her preference for stories, as compared to historical accounts, or books describing far off places and strange cultures.

"Ah, Rose, good morning." The old store owner, Peter, hobbled around one of the many shelves. He had a bad leg, just as Rose did, one of many things they had bonded over. Of course, he didn't quite fill the void in her world that books did, just as books never quite filled it either. Nevertheless, old Peter did a remarkable job, and was a dear friend.

"Good morning, Peter. I finished the book." Rose fished the fairy tale out of her basket, and handed it over. She felt a little sheepish as Peter looked from the book up to her, and then back, and cleared her throat. "Ah, do you have anything new?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I probably won't get anything new until spring," Peter said. "Did you like the book?"

"Oh, I loved it!" Rose reached up, and pulled one of the books off a top shelf. "Though I have to wonder why the giant would have a magical harp and a hen that could lay golden eggs."

"It's an old story," Peter said. "I'm afraid that if there was ever a reason, no one recorded it." He set the book in his hands aside, and tilted his head. "Which one will you take out this time?" he asked.

"Oh, this one, if I may." Rose held out the thick volume, and bit her lip.

"Again?" Peter chuckled. "That's the third time this month!"

"I know, but," Rose paused, and looked down at the floor. "But it's my favorite. Far off places, magic spells, good and evil, happily ever after… I just love reading about that sort of thing."

"I can tell!" Peter chuckled again, and handed the book back. "Keep it."

"What?"

"Since you enjoy it so much, it's yours."

Rose clutched the book to her chest. "Really? You- are you sure?"

Peter sat down at the table, and stroked Maggie's back. "I wouldn't give it to you if I wasn't sure," he said. "You have it more then I do. Now, are you really going to argue?"

"No, but- thank you!" Rose bit her lip, and traced the edge of the book cover. "Peter?"

"Mm?"

"I'm just going to keep looking around," she said, and turned to the shelves. She needed to talk to someone, but Peter wasn't the best choice. There wasn't really anyone she could talk to. All the girls would think her crazy, and she wasn't exactly comfortable talking to any of the men.

She selected two other books, just to borrow, and headed out. The same feeling of discontent- the same ache inside her, the empty hole that nothing could fill- rose up at the sight of the village. How, she wondered, a lump lodging in her throat, how could everyone be so happy, and she so miserable? Her father was happy, busy with his work as a blacksmith and with his inventing. There was nothing she could say to him about what she was feeling, nothing that could be done. _She_ wasn't even sure what she was feeling, and until she knew, there was nothing that could be said!

Distracted by her thoughts, Rose walked into the one person she did not want to see.

Gaston.

"Oh. Pardon me," she said.

"Rose! I was just looking for you." Gaston slung one arm around Rose's shoulders, tucking her up against his side. She clutched her basket, and didn't even try to pull away. He was stronger then she was.

"Oh? What for?"

"To talk to you, of course." Gaston gave a little squeeze, and Rose just kept from wincing. "Why don't you come down to my tavern?"

"I would, but… I can't." Rose twisted away, and smoothed out her dress. "I have to go- make dinner. We'll have to talk some other time."

"I could walk you home-"

"There's no need for that. Thank you, but, no." Rose backed away, doing her best to appear apologetic, when all she really wanted was to run home. She saw the triplets coming up the street, headed for Gaston, and nearly smiled. A distraction, and a lasting one at that! She would have thanked them, if they had been able to understand why she was doing it.

She hurried as much as her ankle would allow, slipping past the triplets and just managing to hear one of them tell the others that 'Rose was crazy' and very nearly laughed. Not crazy, just, well, Gaston seemed to think they were engaged, or that she wanted them to be engaged.

Once back in the sanctuary of her home, she sat down in the kitchen and stared at her books. She really had to do something about Gaston, and soon. Ever since he'd hit fourteen, he'd thought they had some sort of future together, and she just couldn't see it.

"Maybe it's me," she mumbled, and sighed. She really did need to start dinner, if she and her father were going to eat at any reasonable time.

Morris came in just as she was setting out full plates. He smiled, and washed his hands in the sink.

"Did you have a good day?" Rose asked, sitting down. She rubbed at her leg with one hand, under the table so Morris couldn't see it.

"Oh, it was the usual. Boris's horse decided to throw a shoe, and then threw a fit in the smithy, so I was picking up after for a good hour, at least." Morris chuckled, and shook his head. "Boris felt so bad he paid me extra, so there's that at least."

"Did you manage to work any on your invention? The… wood chopping thing?"

"Oh, I hit a few snags. I'm letting it sit for now. Maybe something will come to me and I'll have it working perfectly in a few days."

"I hope so." Rose poked at her food, not really eating. Morris raised his eyebrows.

"Did something happen to you?" he asked.

"I saw Gaston," she said. "It was awkward."

"You really need to think about his proposal, Rose." Morris pushed back from the table, and moved over to her side. "He loves you."

"He thinks he loves me. And I don't- oh, papa, he's like my brother!" She wrinkled her nose. "I can't get married to him!"

"But you're friends, Rose. There have been worse marriages-"

"Papa." Rose placed her hand on Morris's, and stared him straight in the eye. "I want more in life then to just get married to my best friend and have, oh, three, four children. I want someone who- who actually _loves_ me, for me, not thinks that he loves me just because we've known each other since we were children. I want someone I can trust."

She closed her eyes then, and bowed her head. Finally, she had put words to the ache she always felt. "And I can't trust Gaston."

"Why not? What's he done?" Morris crouched down, and tried to look Rose in the eye. "Has he hurt you?"

"He hasn't hurt me, papa." Not really. "But he's either very lucky, or just about every girl in the village is, because none of them have gotten pregnant yet."

Morris leaned back. "Is that so?" He shook his head, and returned to his seat. "Well then, I suppose you'll just have to tell him why you won't marry him."

"I suppose I will." Rose pushed away her plate. "I'm sorry, papa. I'm not really hungry. I'm going to go… I don't know."

"Alright, Rose." He sighed, and watched his daughter leave the room, limping. "Alright."

Maybe _he'd_ better have a talk with Gaston.

0O0

Rose was feeding the chickens when Gaston showed up the next day. She simply looked over and sighed as he hopped over the low fence. She was going to have to talk to him. She would probably lose his friendship. Certainly every unwedded woman in the village would think she was insane. But she had to tell him the truth, because this couldn't go on.

"Gaston. Would you like to come in? I think we need to talk."

Gaston's whole expression brightened, as if he was expecting her to say 'marry me now', but… no. She would have to break that expression, shatter his joy, and then live with herself afterwards.

She could do it. She hoped.

"Sit down," she urged, and like a puppy, Gaston sat. He even had the whole 'eager puppy' look on his face, staring at her like she was going to give him the world- and she really needed to stop looking at him, or she would never manage to say what she needed to say.

She stared at the dishes in the sink. "You want me to marry you. I'm sorry, I can't."

"What?" Gaston stood up, and he no longer looked like a puppy. He looked like a big, strong man who went hunting every day in the fall, who could chop logs for hours and not get tired, a man who was as big and muscular as it was possible to get. Rose had never felt so small, or so weak. "What do you mean? Come on Rose, you and me- we're perfect!"

"No we're not." Rose backed away, so Gaston wasn't looming over her. "We really aren't. I don't love you."

"You could learn."

"No, I really can't. You're practically my brother, Gaston. I'm sorry."

Gaston folded his arms. "That shouldn't matter. I love you. You can learn to love me- we'll have a great house, Rose, and- and four kids. Three sons and a girl for you to spoil. And we'll have dogs, and horses and-"

"No."

"Why not?" He was nearly yelling now. Rose closed her eyes, and did her best to brace against it.

"Because I don't want my children to have half-brothers and half-sisters."

Gaston blinked at that. "But, Rose, all you have to do is stay loyal."

"And you? Would you be loyal to your wife?" She waited, but he didn't say anything. "That's what I thought. Gaston, when I marry, it will be someone who will stay with me. Not someone who managed to date the triplets at the same time- I don't even know how you managed that!"

"Well, they're not very smart…" Gaston cleared his throat. "I can change, Rose. You know I can."

"I know. But it wouldn't matter." And there it went. She could just about see his joy, his confidence, shatter. "I don't love you, and I never will. I'm sorry."

"You never told me before." Gaston sat back down, and hung his head.

"I tried. I just never wanted to hurt your feelings." She took a few steps closer, and bit her lip. "I'll always be your friend, you know. But look, it's not the end of the world. Any other girl in the village would love to be your wife."

"But none of them are you." He looked up, and smiled. "Sorry. I should go."

"Yes. I'm sure you'd better."

Rose hugged him, before he left. He didn't hug her back.

**End Notes**

_This chapter was surprisingly hard to write. It wasn't just my work deciding to eat my soul- though it did do that (seriously. Night shift. Why do we have it?) - it was also the plain fact that, while I want this to be close to the movie plot, I don't want it to mirror it. Trying to come up with original dialogue was a pain and a half, and for the bookseller I stopped trying and just wrote what I thought sounded right. I'm avoiding watching the movie right now, to avoid influence, so I don't know how close/far I hit as far as 'this is what was said'... and I'm babbling. I'm sorry._

_So, one of the biggest differences between here and the movie- Gaston is a womanizer. Logically, it makes sense. Is he really going to save himself for marriage? Probably not, not when all the girls in town seem to worship him. Further more, you're a lot less likely to get married to/have kids with someone you think of as a sibling. And look- Rose actually told Gaston that no, she wasn't going to marry him, and why!_

_Really wish that had been a scene in the movie, I really, truely do. Reading books doesn't make a girl a modern day heroine... but that's just my opinion._


	3. Results of a Refusal

**Chapter Three  
****Rose**

Rose sat down at the kitchen table, and rested her chin on one hand. "What a mess," she muttered. She needed to talk to someone who would understand, but who in this town would? Her papa might, but he was busy working. The only other person she could think of was Peter, but she wasn't comfortable enough to talk to him about personal problems.

She sighed, and found a piece of paper and got a quill and bottle of ink. She wrote a quick note, telling her father that she had gone for a ride and not to worry, she wouldn't be out for very long.

She grabbed her rain cape and hurried out, heading for the stables. It was threatening rain, but she could manage a quick ride. Cinnamon was always an attentive listener, and right now, all Rose really needed was just to talk to someone. They didn't have to talk back.

0O0

A good hour and a half later, Rose turned Cinnamon back to town. She had talked herself hoarse, finally- _finally_- able to put her disquiet into words. She was lonely. She wanted female friends, or at least one friend who didn't want to marry her. She didn't want to hurt Gaston, but what else could she have done? She just couldn't stand the thought of getting married to him. It was enough to make her stomach churn with a mixture of nerves, disgust, and strangely enough, shame. She could understand the nerves and disgust, but the shame? Perhaps it was only that Gaston thought he had wanted to marry her, and not one of the other girls who he had courted. What could she bring to a marriage, anyways?

She sighed. She had managed to depress herself. She was going to die a bitter old maid who collected cats, she just knew it.

She looked up, and frowned. Gaston was by the barn, quite obviously waiting. Her stomach twisted, even as she pulled Cinnamon to a stop and slid to the ground.

"Rose?" Gaston took Cinnamon's reins from her, and led the horse into the barn. Rose followed, limping slightly, completely confused.

"Is something the matter?" she asked, then winced. Gaston flinched slightly, but sounded calm when he spoke.

"You do realize hunting season starts in two days, right?"

"I stayed on the paths," she pointed out. "And I'm going to braid ribbons in Cinnamon's mane tomorrow. I'll wear bright colors, will stay on the obvious paths, and won't go out early or late. This isn't the first time I've ridden during hunting season."

Gaston pulled the saddle off of Cinnamon's back, and merely looked at her. Rose looked down at the floor. Of course this year was different. Gaston quite obviously wasn't going to go with her.

"I really will be fine," she said. "You don't have to worry about me."

"I can't help but worry, Rose."

"Well, try to worry a little less? I'm not a fool, and I will be careful."

"I'd like it if you wouldn't go out."

Rose sighed, and picked up a curry comb. Cinnamon wouldn't mind if her grooming was slightly harried, at least. "I'm not going to stay in town the entire hunting season. If I do that, then I'll be trapped in doors during the winter, and that's not fair to Cinnamon. She needs exercise."

"Then I'll exercise her for you." Gaston continued to stand there, watching as Rose brushed out Cinnamon's fur.

"You could, yes, but really, Gaston, be reasonable." Rose turned to face him. "I'm not made of glass, whatever you think. It's only three weeks."

Gaston shook his head, and took the saddle away to the tack room. She sighed as he disappeared, and looked at Cinnamon. "Oh, what am I going to do?" she murmured, and patted Cinnamon's cheek. "At least you're not fussing at me."

Cinnamon snorted, and tried to nibble on Rose's skirts. She sighed, and tugged on the reins. She was really going to have to do something about this. Now all she had to do was figure out what.

0O0

Dinner that night was rather bland. Rose picked at her food, and sighed. "Papa," she asked. "I think I have a problem."

"What is it, Rose?" Morris put down his fork and knife.

"I told Gaston why I couldn't marry him, but… Oh, I don't know. It's so confusing."

"How upset was he?"

Rose shook her head. "Not very upset. Not angry, anyways. But oh, Papa, he was hurt. And now things are so strange between us."

Morris folded his hands and pressed his mouth against them. After a moment, he pulled back and spoke. "I think you hurt him, yes, but Rose, he will get over it. Things won't go back to how they were, but you'll still be friends with him."

"I suppose."

"What else is bothering you, sweetheart?"

"Do you think I'll ever find someone to love?" Her face crumpled, and tears threatened. "Papa, I don't want to marry Gaston, I don't love him, but do you think I could have learnt to? What if this was it, my one chance, and I ruined it because I was afraid?"

Morris chuckled. "Rose, despite what your books say, there is no 'one person' for anyone. True love is fictional." He paused, and nodded once. "Besides, it's pretty daunting if you think about it. 'The one', as if you only get the one chance and if you mess up, that's it. Gaston might have been a good husband, Rose, and you can always change your mind and marry him. But I'd rather you don't do it because you're afraid."

"What would I be afraid of?" Rose demanded.

"Growing old alone?" Morris nodded when Rose winced. "Rose, it might be that you'll never find anyone to love in Grantham. But that doesn't mean you have to stay here. It's not that unusual for a young girl to live on her own any more, not in the big cities."

"But Papa, I don't want to leave Grantham. I love it here." She sighed, and looked down at her plate. "I just don't know."

"Well, don't do anything too hasty. And always know that I love you, no matter what happens Rose."

"I love you too, papa. I'm going to go think about this, now, alright?"

Morris nodded, and sighed as Rose left the room, for the second time in three days. He was really going to have to do something, and soon.

**Vincent**

The young Beast prowled the halls of his castle, ignoring a steady draft that managed to get through his fur and chilled him to the bone. The castle was not pleased, which showed in the draft, the spider webs hanging everywhere, and the general air of gloom. The food on the dining table was half cooked at best, heavy on red meats, some slices of which seemed to be still bleeding. The Beast had left the table, having selected the best of what was there, and leaving the rest to be dealt with, however that was. He was still hungry, but knew there was no point in returning to the dining room for more food.

The ten years had given him time to get used to the changes forced upon him. The sorceress had gotten rid of his human servants, somehow, and placed a spell that enabled the castle to do all the work itself. Food was cooked, clothing was cleaned and mended and made larger when needed, repairs were done, windows and walls and floors were washed… Everything the servants had done, the castle did.

There was just one odd side effect, one the Beast had noticed somewhere around the third year.

The castle had a personality.

Or at the very least, the castle had opinions. When the Beast raged at his situation- for even a year was a long time, as a monster with no hope- the castle grew angry, and a cold draft would stalk the halls, following him around. Or the dining table would have his least favorite foods. At one point, after a particularly spectacular tantrum, the castle had locked him in his room.

For the Beast, it was normal. He had lived like this for ten years. The way things were going, he would likely live like this for the rest of his life.

He passed a mirror, and sighed. No matter how many times he smashed them, the castle repaired the mirrors just as fast. It didn't seem to get the message that he might prefer not to see his face reflected at him.

Still, as some form of self-torment, he glanced in the mirror, only to flinch and shudder at what he saw. No matter how many times he looked, he never got used to it.

He was a monster. He stood at least eight feet on his hind legs, very nearly five feet at the shoulder on all fours. He had a heavy brown pelt, a massive chest and shoulders of a size. His arms and hands were at least human in shape, though giant and furred, and his fingers ended in claws. The lower half of his body looked like an animal's, especially with the tail and hind paws.

His face though, was the worst. Sometimes he thought he could get used to the curse, how he looked, if only his face were _different_. He was furred, of course, with horns, a flattened nose, ears that were more like a horse's then a human's, and a mouth full of fangs. Due to some quirk, back when he'd managed to lose the last of his baby teeth as a Beast, he now had an under bite, which left his lower fangs poking up over his top lip.

His eyes, though, were human, and were the worst part of his face.

He really hated mirrors.

He finally tired of pacing the halls, and retreated to the West Wing. At least here, his choices ruled. There were no mirrors. The furniture was smashed to pieces, the remains strewn about like victims at a massacre. Even the walls and floor had claw marks.

He looked in on the lilac, still glowing, still floating in the air beneath the bell jar. Nine of the ten flowers had withered and fallen to the tabletop. The tenth, perched at the very tip of the branch, was still healthy- but it wouldn't last.

The Beast rested one paw on the jar, and sighed. It wouldn't be long now. He knew it, the castle knew it. He would reach his twenty-first birthday without having seen another human being, and he would be condemned to remain a Beast forever.

He hoped that, whatever the sorceress had done to them, his servants were alright. They hadn't deserved what had happened.

He hadn't deserved what had happened either, but there was nothing he could do. What woman would come here, all the way out in the midst of the wilderness?

**End Notes**

_Hello again, my friends. Something of a short chapter this time- and I am sorry about it, but there was only so long I could drag Rose on without mentioning Vincent, and really once he's been mentioned, that's the chapter. At least next chapter will (hopefully, unless the characters decide to throw me a curve ball) get Rose and Vincent in the same castle. _

_And a quick note to SamoaPhoenix- the greatest complement a writer can recieve is being told you have touched someone. Thank you._


	4. Be our Guest

**Chapter Four  
****Rose**

The week continued on, the very picture of normality. No one snubbed Rose, subtly or not, though the young, unmarried, female portion of the town continued to be as rude as each individual thought she could get away with. It seemed Gaston was keeping her rejection as quiet as he could, though eventually it would come out. Such things always did. All it would take was one night at a tavern, a little more to drink then was prudent, and for someone to ask Gaston how 'his girl' was.

Thinking about how she'd be treated after everyone knew worried her stomach into knots, so Rose did her best to keep distracted. It was hunting season, so she couldn't ride as far out as she would have liked, nor explored any side paths. She had to wear a bright orange vest over her dress, braid bright yellow, orange, and green ribbons into Cinnamon's mane and tail, and in all, riding wasn't nearly as relaxing as it should have been. The sharp cracking of many guns tended to ruin any peace she managed to find.

She managed to surprise Peter with the number of trips she took down to his book store. And, since she had managed to read every story in his shop at least once, she finally branched out and borrowed a small- compared to what else was offered- book on philosophy, and another on natural history.

They weren't very interesting, but the philosophy at least made her think about something other then her current problem. Puzzling out what Aristotle meant when he wrote about 'true knowledge' and how the world was but a shadow copy of the real thing wasn't something she could just put down.

She wasn't going to get out a second philosophy book, though. Especially not Greek philosophy. It made her think things that, as a good Christian woman, she probably shouldn't think. After all, Aristotle had been a pagan, hadn't he? Everything he'd wrote had to be taken with a grain- or a pound!- of salt.

It was, in fact, Saturday when her commonplace, day to day existence finally began its end.

0O0

"Rose?" Morris poked his head into the kitchen, and sighed with what seemed to be relief when he saw her at the kitchen table, puzzling over the philosophy book. "There you are!" He came all the way into the kitchen, and scratched at the back of his neck. "I've got to go away for a bit. Just two, three days."

"Is something wrong?" she asked, closing her book. "Where are you going?"

"No, no, nothing's wrong. Well, not for us." Morris sighed, and shook his head. "Coston- it's a small village, doesn't even have its own blacksmith- has a watermill. Only one of its parts has managed to break and no one knows how to fix it, so…"

"So they're asking you to come take care of it?" Rose asked, amused. "Papa, that's… I suppose it's wonderful, really."

"It is." He smiled, and then frowned. "You'll be alright on your own?"

"I'll be fine. It's only three days at the most."

"Well, maybe four. I might have to set up a makeshift forge. And you're right." Morris kissed Rose on the forehead, and then headed for the door. "It's only four days. What could happen?"

"Goodbye, Papa. Good luck on the road, and good luck in Coston!"

0O0

Rose tightened Cinnamon's girth, and led the mare over to the mounting block. The hunters were already out, filling the woods with their noise. Despite the fact that riding was not going to be as enjoyable as she could have wished, she just couldn't stay in her house any longer. Simply knowing that her Papa wasn't going to be in for dinner was enough to turn the familiar, slightly downtrodden building into something that aspired for sinister and just managed vaguely creepy.

Maybe there _was_ something to the phrase 'women shouldn't read'. She certainly had an overactive imagination.

She had just mounted up when she spotted Gaston, heading into the woods. She nudged Cinnamon into a trot, and caught up with him.

"I would have thought you'd have been out and finished by now," she said, by way of greeting.

Gaston's expression was equal parts joy, wariness, and dismay. "I was. I'm going back out- I have a new bow to try."

"Oh, I see." Rose bit her lip. "Well, I'm just going for a quick ride- and before you say anything, yes, I'll be careful!" She turned Cinnamon towards one of the common riding trails, and managed to get away before Gaston could attempt a lecture.

She tried to enjoy the solitude in the woods, she really did, but considering what was going on, she'd only been riding for fifteen minutes when she decided to go back in.

And that was when everything went to, well, Hades.

There was no hint, no sound of a gun going off, _nothing_. One second it had been a moment of rare quiet, and the next-

The next, Cinnamon went insane.

The horse stiffened all over, screamed, and then took off so fast Rose very nearly fell off right then and there. Only a quick grab at Cinnamon's mane saved her from a spill. And only every ounce of riding ability kept her in the saddle after that. The way Cinnamon was racing through the woods, a fall would lead only to broken bones, or worse.

All she could think was '_What happened?'_ Cinnamon wasn't the type to do such things. She was a calm, gentle mare who had never shied at anything, not the sound of guns going off, hounds baying, or any of Rose's father's inventions.

Rose crouched low over Cinnamon's back, as much to shield her face from tree branches as to keep her balance. Cinnamon was off any known trails, simply crashing through the underbrush. Several times she jumped over obstacles, such as fallen trees or once, a placid brook.

There was no way to pull back on the reins, not that Cinnamon would have listened if she had. Rose simply clung to the horse's back, hoping- praying- that the horse would stop running.

Now would be good.

Finally, the only reason Cinnamon stopped running was there was no place else to run from. Rose straightened up, wincing as cramped muscles complained, and then gasped.

Cinnamon stood, splayed legged and gasping, in a cul-de-sac made from two brick walls and a stand of trees. The brick walls were huge, stretching up eight feet, meeting in as perfect a right angle as could be asked for. The trees were mere saplings. In fact, Rose saw, looking around, that the area around the walls, for several feet at least, had only saplings, long grass, and bushes.

She dismounted and loosened Cinnamon's girth. Simply staying still like this was risking the horse's health, but Rose wouldn't tax the poor creature by staying in the saddle.

"Come along, darling," she murmured, tugging on the reins. Cinnamon shuffled her front hooves, but didn't move. "Cinnamon?"

Rose moved back, and bit her lip. Now that she was looking, she could see blood on one hind leg. Had Cinnamon managed to cut herself? Was that why she wouldn't move? Rose moved over to see, and gasped. For a moment, all she could do was stare. There was a- a bloody great _stick_ jabbed into Cinnamon's haunch, in the muscles. A strangely straight stick, without any twigs or-

And then she understood what it was. Why Cinnamon had run off. Any horse would, when shot with an arrow.

0O0

The gate was just as tall as the walls, wide enough for two farm carts to pass through at the same time, and made of twisted black metal. There were no spikes at the top, a lack of which didn't make it appear any friendlier. It opened easily, thankfully, despite the weeds that choked the lane- though it wasn't really a lane any more, just a path of gravel with greenery growing over it- on either side. Rose urged Cinnamon through, then carefully latched the gate closed behind.

Her first stop, she decided, was to be the stable. If she could find it. She hadn't really looked, but… she was staring at a castle. A somewhat ill repaired, overgrown castle, but still. Just where would the stables be? Around the back? To the side? And if so, which side?

Rose finally just guessed at a direction, and started walking. If need be, she would walk around the entire castle. She didn't really want to- Cinnamon was limping heavily now- but she would.

It turned out she didn't have to. Just past a screen of what used to be ornamental trees and were now simply out of control were the stables. It was a bigger building then she had ever seen before, save the castle itself. Surely there would be someone in there that could help her.

She pushed open one barn door, and squinted. Barns were never very bright, as a rule, but this one was positively gloomy. She couldn't hear anything- no horses, and no people. The stable was empty.

Rose put Cinnamon away in the first empty, clean stall she found, which meant walking almost halfway to the back of the barn. She did her best to see to her horse, taking the saddle and bridle off and hanging it on the door. There was nothing Rose could currently do about the arrow, and there was no food or water in the stall or hay on the ground, but at the very least Cinnamon wouldn't wander off and the stall was too small for the horse to get down and roll.

"Hello?" she called. There was no answer. She hadn't really expected one. The castle must have been abandoned at some point, and she was one of the first people to set foot in it in ages. Still, there could have been someone living there, someone who preferred the solitude.

Someone crazy, most likely.

"Hello? I'm sorry to intrude, but my horse is hurt. Hello?"

Rose looked into what she thought was the tack room. There were no saddles, no bridles, nothing to suggest it had been used for anything.

Finally, with nothing to show for her explorations but a fine covering of dust, Rose returned to where she had left Cinnamon.

Except… the situation had changed.

The horse had been moved across the aisle, into a bigger stall. Someone- or some thing?- had brushed her off, thrown fresh straw onto the floor and put fresh hay in the hay net. There was a bucket of water, the bucket looking rather new and shiny, and the arrow had been pulled from Cinnamon's haunch and was resting in the aisle, on top of an overturned bucket.

Rose looked from the hunting arrow, to her horse, and back again. Something strange was going on, but she wasn't going to question her good fortune. Now that Cinnamon had been cared for, she could look to herself. And as she was exhausted, sweaty, hungry, and above all tired, she hoped her mysterious helper would have something ready.

She wouldn't find anything in the stables, however, she was sure of that much. There was nothing to the back, and she would see anything set up in the front. Perhaps there was a cottage near the stables, for the horse master or something like that. The stories she had read suggested that was how great estates and castles were set up.

When she left the stables, however, carefully sliding the door closed behind her, she saw that her helper had other ideas. The castle was lit up with thousands upon thousands of candles, and one door was open, in blatant invitation. Rose hesitated only briefly, thought of how Cinnamon had been cared for, and headed for that open door.

It was not, she saw as she got closer, the door to the Great Hall. It was something of a relief to realize that. It was a servant's entrance, still much grander then she was used to, and the hallway it let onto seemed to lead directly to the dining room, where a meal had been set out. There was too much food for one person to eat, but Rose wasn't going to question it- or the fact that two places had been set, one in the light and the other in blackest shadow.

She stopped halfway across the room, her eyes widening and one hand creeping up to the base of her throat. Someone was sitting in the shadowed seat. Someone- her mysterious helper?- was watching her.

She stood there she didn't know how long. Long enough for the watcher to get impatient. "Sit down or go away," a deep, bass voice growled. "But don't just stand there."

Rose flinched a little, but took the other seat, the one in the light. "Thank you," she murmured, then cleared her throat. The table was long, doubtless he hadn't heard her. She repeated herself, a little louder, and then added, "I don't mean to intrude, really, but my horse was hurt and I'm a little lost. I'm sorry."

There was a deep, very deep rumble from the hidden person. Rose was sure now that whoever sat in that seat, he wasn't human. No human could get a voice that deeply pitched, or _growl_ like that.

"If you don't stare at your plate, you will be served," the creature said. Rose gulped, nodded, and forced her eyes up away from the table.

"You have a very lovely home," she ventured.

"It keeps the rain off." There was a pause, in which Rose thought she could see, in the shadows, a darker patch shift and get bigger. "Your plate has food on it now."

"Oh." So it did. "Thank you."

The meal continued in the same uncomfortable vein. Anything Rose said, the creature replied to- but no reply led to any conversation. There were far too many silences, and Rose was too tense for the quiet to even venture near 'relaxed'.

Once she'd had her fill, she set down her knife and fork. "Ah," she began, but the shadow at the other end of the table cleared his throat.

"You may stay as long as your horse is injured," he said, sounding very much like the words were being dragged from him. "Your room is prepared. Simply follow the lights."

Rose was about to ask him what he meant by the last when the candles in the dinning room snuffed out. On their own. All at once and with no warning.

She stifled a small shriek, and her host chuckled. She cast about for a light, any light, and spotted a door open just a crack, with lights shining just beyond.

With one frantic glance back over her shoulder, she hurried through the door and down the hall, whereupon she found a room, just as promised.

Fortunately for her peace of mind, the door had a lock, one she used the moment she was inside.

**Vincent**

The urge to howl his despair was very great. There was a girl, an actual girl, in the castle! She was stuck here.

And there was no mistaking the sheer terror in her expression.

Vincent stared into a mirror, for once not looking away after a swift glance. Claws, fangs, horns… fur… Yes, it had been a good idea to stay in the shadows. He didn't know why the Castle had arranged the dining room in that manner, but he wasn't going to ask, either.

He did wish he hadn't laughed, though. Her reaction hadn't been _that_ funny.

He sighed, and headed for his bed. There was always tomorrow to make a better impression. Maybe…

For the first time in years, he fell asleep looking forward to the next day.

**End Notes**

_Alas, not a lot of Vincent yet again- but next chapter, I promise. It's his turn to play viewpoint character. But yes, about this chapter._

_You might have noticed my inner horse nut coming out. I apologize, if that bothered you in any way- you might've been muttering about how I should get on with the story! It was mostly setting up for Rose being stuck in the castle. Really, an injury like the one Cinnamon now has, could take _months_ to heal properly. Well, at least three, anyways. (Remember, it's fall at the moment.) Finally, the story ends with a tense first meeting, not exactly helped out by the Castle's antics._

_Expect further deviations from the movie plot ahead. Right after I get my wisdom teeth yanked out and come off the drugs, that is._


	5. Not Love at First Sight

**Chapter Five  
Vincent**

The young Lord of Eaton woke up, pulled his claws through what fur he could reach, and shrugged a cape over his shoulders. Not even the Castle could manage shirts that didn't rub his fur the wrong way, but a deeply ingrained sense of decency wouldn't allow Vincent to go without more then a shirt. Whether he was alone or not- sadly, he was _alone_, without even a lunatic for company- he would continue to wear breeches and a cape.

He was halfway to the dining room when he realized that there was another person in the castle.

Vincent would have been the first to admit he was somewhat slow in the mornings, but even for him, it took an absurdly long time to figure out what was going on. It took the girl stumbling into the dining room for him to remember everything.

"Good morning," he rumbled, wincing the way she jumped at his voice. He suddenly wished he hadn't taken the shadowed seat. Still, it would have been worse if she could actually _see_ him, wouldn't it? "Breakfast is served."

"I see that," she said, and took careful, mincing steps towards the table. Did she think he would leap from the shadows and rend her with fang and claw? Vincent closed his eyes and turned his face away, as if that would help her any.

He looked at her again, after he heard her chair scrape against the floor. The night before, he hadn't been able to get a good look at her, despite the many lit candles. Now, with sunlight streaming through the windows, he found himself oddly disappointed.

For the first human- and first woman, for that matter- he'd seen in ten years, she was strangely plain. The few times he had entertained thoughts of breaking the curse, his eventual bride, he had always imagined someone beautiful. A blonde, willowy, graceful, woman with skin like pale porcelain, wearing flattering dresses. Or a dark haired, sultry beauty who happened to be very daring, talking and laughing with him and walking around in a low cut dress that was just short of improper.

Not this- this _stick_ of a girl with dull brown hair and dull brown eyes and skin that, while unblemished, wasn't anything like pale porcelain. She didn't even have any good clothing, just a plain blue dress with one sleeve just the slightest bit shorter then the other.

Vincent realized he was staring, and forced himself to look away, but damn it all, he'd expected something else. Something, well, better. Wasn't that how it worked in all the stories he'd heard as a child? His Nurse had read them to him, about beautiful princesses locked away in towers and brave princes braving thorny barriers and dragon-witches to save the cursed princess and always, that moment of love at first sight.

He hadn't expected much. Certainly not love at first sight. But- _something_, surely.

Instead, this little non-entity was perhaps the only way to break his curse. Vincent sighed, getting a strange, fearful look from the girl, and resolved to be nice to her. Perhaps he could learn to love her.

He doubted it, though.

"I- I just realized I don't know your name," the girl said, then blushed. "I mean- ah…"

Vincent tilted his head. "No," he said. "I never told you my name." Did he want to? He really wasn't sure. Vincent was hardly a common name, but it wasn't uncommon either. If he told her his name, would she expect something else- like for him to step out into the light, so she could see him and be horrified?

She was talking. Vincent's attention snapped back to her. She was very quiet.

"-insulted you," she said, staring at her half empty plate. "I didn't mean to. If you don't want to tell me, that's-"

"Beast," he said, interrupting her. "You can call me Beast."

"Oh." She glanced up in his direction once, and resumed staring at her plate. She didn't look up again, nor did she finish her meal. After several minutes, she got up and left.

Vincent sighed, and realized he no longer had any appetite. After a careful look through the windows to make sure the girl wouldn't see him, he walked towards the door.

Halfway there he realized he'd never asked what the girl was named. He'd been rude. He would have to make it up to her.

0O0

It took some looking to find the girl. He was finally reduced to following her scent like some sort of animal. _Granted_, he thought, _the way I look I _am_ an animal._

She was in the barn, talking to her horse. Vincent watched, just inside the doorway, where the shadows were the deepest, as she worked. She seemed very kind, at least with her horse. Maybe it was something about girls, he thought. The pretty ones that he remembered had never been the nicest, while the plainer ones had been kinder. Was that it?

He withheld a sigh. No matter how plain or nice she was, the girl couldn't be a saint. And it would take a saint to fall in love with him and break the curse.

He left the barn. There wasn't anything for him to do, and he didn't want to frighten the horse. The girl would have become upset.

0O0

He didn't have a chance to talk to the girl again until dinner. She joined him in the dining room as the sun was setting, still looking like a frightened doe. The shadows that shrouded him were deeper then they had been in the morning, or the night before. Once she was seated, with a cautious look in his direction, he cleared his throat. She jumped, and turned wide eyes toward him.

"Yes?"

"I realized I never asked what _you_ would like to be called," he said, stumbling over his words a little. "I should have, I'm sorry."

"It's alright." The girl looked down at her plate, and began to cut up her food. "You can call me Rose, if you like?"

"Rose?" She had a beautiful name, if that meant anything. "I… alright."

She smiled at him, nothing more then a faint upturn of her lips, but it was a smile. He smiled back, though she thankfully couldn't see it. A mouth full of fangs would have put her off her meal.

"Do you… do you know who helped my horse? And- when I woke up this morning, there was a dress- not mine- on the bed. I don't know who… Not you, surely?" Her eyes widened again, and even from the other end of the table Vincent could smell her fear.

"No," he said. "Not me."

She seemed to settle at that, though her eyes continued to be slightly wide. Vincent couldn't imagine why. He'd told her he hadn't been in her room, or been near her horse. What could be worrying about that?

After a minute, she bit her lip, then whispered, "but then, who did do it?" Vincent wasn't sure he was supposed to have heard, as she'd been looking down at her plate, so he didn't answer.

When she left, he thought about wishing her a good night, but by the time he'd opened his mouth, she was gone.

0O0

It took him two more days before he realized she limped.

In all that time, he'd seen her only at breakfast and at dinner. He'd watched her, but she seemed to know when that was happening, and always seemed frightened. He did his best not to watch her too long or too often, though in a way he wanted to. For all her plainness, she was… interesting.

And, it seemed, hurt. She took such small steps he barely noticed, except once she half-ran into the castle from the stables, trying to beat the rain. She didn't quite manage, and looked odd with her hair damp and clinging to her cheeks and forehead. He had watched her, from a second story window, and then clambered down to peer at her from the top of the servant's stairs. He followed her to the dining room- much to his surprise- and then stood at the windows, watching the rain.

Vincent took the chance to get to his usual seat. She jumped and turned around when his chair scraped against the floor, but by then he was safely hidden.

"Oh, I- do you- would you rather I left?" she asked, hugging herself. He wondered why that hurt.

"No," he said. "Why don't you take a chair and… look out the window." The table was empty now. There was nothing else to look at, except for her. "Why are you…?"

"There's a thunderstorm," she said. "I suppose I… I suppose I like to watch them."

"Take a chair," he suggested.

She nodded. "Thank you." She took her chair, and pulled it towards the window. She stumbled, and gasped, and before he knew it he was halfway across the room, one hand outstretched.

"Here, do you need any… help…" Vincent stared down at his hand as if he'd never seen it before, and then looked over at the girl, meeting her wide, terrified eyes. "Please don't scream," he whispered. "Please, please, just don't scream."

She didn't scream. She fainted instead.

0O0

The castle was displeased.

Vincent shivered, not from cold, but from the air of disappointment that hung in the room. The castle didn't dare do anything else to him, not when he was with the girl.

With Rose. He really needed to think of her as Rose.

She hadn't woken up. Yet again, he found himself looking towards the bed, and practically pulled his eyes away. He would not look at her, not when she was in bed, asleep. It would be wrong.

He'd had to carry her to her room, of course. The castle had been upset, judging by the doors opening and closing just out of sight. Her room had been ready, bed turned down, a fire behind the grate, and the shutters wide open so the fury of the storm could be seen. Vincent had laid her down on the bed, pulled the covers up to her shoulders, and then backed away to sit in the most shadowed corner he could find and wait.

He'd been waiting a while. Almost three hours, judging by the clock on the fire mantle.

Yet again, he found his gaze drifting towards the girl's- Rose's- bed. Yet again, he looked away- but this time he looked back when he heard her sigh.

"Rose?" he whispered, stiffening. He wasn't sure he was even breathing. She was moving, just a little bit, frowning with her eyes closed. It seemed an eternity before her eyes opened, but it couldn't have been very long.

"Wha?" she breathed, and stared at the ceiling.

"Rose?" he whispered again. She turned to look at him, and jumped. She had looked calm before, if confused. Now she just looked terrified.

Vincent cringed back before he could stop himself. He didn't want to frighten her. That was why he was in the shadows.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"What are you?" she whispered, as if that were an answer.

"Me."

She blinked at that. "But…"

Vincent closed his eyes. "I can leave if you want."

"No. That's okay."

"But you're afraid."

"Yes. I was surprised." Vincent could hear her sitting up, pushing the blankets off. "But you don't frighten me nearly as much now as you did when I couldn't see you."

"Really?" he opened his eyes. Rose stood by the bed, but she was on his side of the bed, and she was watching him. He thought she was still afraid, but she wasn't screaming, she wasn't keeping pieces of furniture between them, and she wasn't fainting. It took him a moment, but he had what he wanted to say. "I didn't want to frighten you. That was why I was hiding."

"I'd really rather you didn't, anymore." She moved forward a few steps, keeping her eyes focused on him the entire time. "I can hardly get used to you if I don't see you."

He bowed his head. "If you wish. I'll leave you alone now."

"Wait!" she pressed one hand to the base of her throat. "Is- do you really want to be called 'Beast'?"

"It is what I am," he told her, and left.

**End Notes**

_Yes, I am back, and with a new chapter too! For those interested, the wisdom teeth came out fine- though I still have a stitch or two left in my mouth. Very annoying. Now, on to the chapter!_

_I didn't count the lines of dialogue, but compared to some of my other stories, this one has characters that are positively silent! Okay, granted, one of them is Rose, who's rather quiet and somewhat shy, and the other is Vincent, who's been alone for ten years with no one to talk to but himself, but still... Oh well, they'll have better conversational skills later. Quick note about Rose fainting- she's stressed, she's in a strange place, and Vincent is fast. Very fast. So blink, and suddenly he's _there_. That'd be enough to make anyone faint, let alone Rose, who's brave for a girl of that era, but not THAT brave._


	6. Awkward Pauses

**Chapter Six  
****Rose**

She sat on her bed, staring out the window at the storm, and finally stopped trying to think. She had already had her emotional breakdown, just after- after Beast left the room. She'd nearly fallen to the floor, she had been shaking so hard, and even still occasionally shuddered.

He was just so very strange to look at. His appearance could have been worse- he didn't have scales, after all, which was most certainly a blessing- but it was a shock. He must have been as large as a bear, if not bigger. And the rest of him! If his size was intimidating, then the fangs and claws and horns were terrifying!

Except he seemed frightened of _her_. He'd flinched. And, she wasn't sure, but she thought he'd whispered 'please don't scream' just before she'd fainted.

Rose just didn't know what to think. Was she frightened of Beast? Well, yes, but not afraid for her life. And at least now she knew just who she had been talking to. That had been- well, she wasn't eager to repeat the experience.

She sighed, and watched the storm for the rest of the afternoon. At the dinner hour, she left her room and headed down to the dining room.

And was forced to stop in the doorway, blinking in shock.

The table had been- altered. If it was even the same table, which she doubted. The old table had been longer, one end always in shadows that were almost as black as pitch. This table was shorter, both seats lit by a hanging chandelier that _hadn't_ been there before! In fact, now that she noticed, the entire room had changed!

The gray flagstone floor had somehow become a deep, rich cherry wood polished until she could almost see her reflection in it. The walls had been plastered and, for all that could be told in the uncertain candlelight, seemed to be some sort of rosy color, perhaps pale red or lavender. Candles in tall stands were in the corners, and at one side of the room was a long table- the original one, perhaps- covered in a snow white cloth, and piled high with dishes.

There was the faintest click behind her, and she whirled to face Beast's chest. She backed up several steps until she could meet his eyes without hurting her neck. He looked… She wasn't sure how he looked. It was so hard to read his expression, with the inhuman features and all the fur.

"What happened?" she asked him, and he shook his head.

"The room changed, obviously. It's happened before, but not for a while." Beast shook his head again, and gestured at the table. "I suppose we should eat."

"Yes," Rose said, feeling a little faint. How could a room just- change, so suddenly and without any effort? She asked just that, and Beast shrugged.

"Magic. How else? This whole castle is run by magic." He growled something beneath his breath, and pulled out the chair nearest to the door, and then took the other. Rose blinked at him, before getting a plate and filling it. She took her seat, and studied her dinner companion with some interest.

"You're not going to eat?"

He snorted. "You want to watch me eat?"

She looked down at her plate. With those fangs… perhaps it was for the best he wasn't going to eat in front of her. She cleared her throat, and looked back up at him. "You said something about magic?" she asked.

"Yes." Beast folded his arms on the table, and scowled at her. "Everything is done by magic. The food, your clothes, the horse…" He shrugged again, and leaned back in his chair. "It saves me from human servants who would scream at the sight of me."

Rose bit her lip. "Surely they wouldn't," she began, only to be cut off.

"They would. I have looked in mirrors before."

She took a deep breath, but didn't look away. "So, it was magic that took care of my horse? I imagine it's rather difficult to thank, well, it."

"You could, but I think you'd be wasting your breath." She knew he was amused, even if he didn't look it. He sounded it, and that was probably the best way to figure out his emotional state. "Magic is a tool. I think it'd be like thanking a hammer or a saw."

"Probably," she said, and smiled.

**Vincent**

It was annoying, how many shadows had been eliminated in one afternoon.

Vincent bared his fangs at the nearest wall. "Think you're clever, do you?" he growled. "Think you have everything figured out? Well, you don't!"

"Why are you talking to the wall?"

He spun in place- rather like Rose had done, yesterday- and coughed. "Ah, uh, I was talking to the, uh, magic," he admitted. There was one good thing about the fur. She couldn't see him blush.

"Oh."

Rose stood in the doorway, her eyes wide and one hand loosely clenched against the base of her throat. He had never seen her relaxed, except when she was with her horse, and even then she was always a little nervous.

And now with his shadows gone, she would always be afraid around him. He would never see her calm, never see her relaxed and smiling.

She might not have been beautiful, but he was all he had. And if he couldn't love her, he could at least be friendly. Though, it was hard to even be nice when he had the feeling that she would run away from him the first chance she got.

It made him want to curl up under the divan, or climb out the window.

"Is there something you need?" he asked, to try and forget his embarrassment.

"Oh. Well, yes, in a way. May I come in?"

Vincent blinked, and gave Rose an odd look. She already was in the castle. Then he realized she meant the room, and frowned. "Of course. You can go any where you like."

It was impossible for her eyes to get any wider, yet somehow she managed it. "I can? But I wouldn't want to go into any of your private rooms- that would be horribly rude, and I don't want-"

"If you're not supposed to go somewhere, the door won't open." There were still rooms he wasn't allowed in. He was the master of the castle, wasn't he? Stupid spell, and stupid castle.

"Alright," Rose said, and walked over to the divan. "Ah, I was hoping I could talk to you, actually."

He nodded, and waited. And waited some more. Finally, impatient, he gestured with one hand. "Well?"

"Oh, ah, that is…" She took a breath, and smoothed out her skirt. "I fear that my horse isn't healing- I mean, my horse might not be well enough to ride until winter."

"You can stay here until then. I have no problem with that." How long would it take to make someone fall in love, anyways? He didn't know. Surely a few weeks would be enough.

"It's only that, well, once winter begins, I won't be able to go through the woods. And there doesn't seem to be any other way from here to my village."

"You won't be able to leave until spring?" he asked. She nodded. "That's alright. You can stay… as long as you like." Suddenly awkward, he stumbled as he walked to the door. "I have no problem- there is no problem- I'll just-" go now, and do his best to hide under his bed like a child.

Rose smiled at him, and her cheeks grew somewhat pink. "Thank you. I just wish I could let my father know I'm alright- but thank you."

Vincent nodded, and left before he could say something especially stupid.

Why had that happened? She was a girl, just an unattractive girl. He shouldn't have gotten so flustered talking to her.

Except she was a girl. Unattractive or not, she was the first girl he'd seen in ten years.

Defeated, Vincent slumped against the nearest wall, and looked up at the ceiling. He could barely hold a decent conversation. How was he supposed to make some girl fall for him? Especially with how he looked.

He scowled, and lightly punched the wall. Come spring, she would leave, and he would fail to break the curse. The sooner he accepted that, the easier the rest of his life would be.

0O0

Rose cleared her throat. "So, what do you think?"

Vincent looked away from his contemplation of the table top, and just kept his jaw from dropping. "You have a new dress," he managed, his voice slightly strangled.

"Yes. I found it on my bed." She brushed one hand over the skirt, and sighed. Then, she stiffened, and looked at him again. "Do you like it?"

Why was she asking him? It was a dress, it was green, it was very flattering. What did his opinion matter?

"It's nice," he said, and stood up. He pulled out her chair, and remembered to wait for her to sit down before taking his seat. She smiled at him, and then it was _his_ turn to look down.

"You know," she said. "This is the first new dress I've had in, oh, ages. I'm used to making my own clothes, but this is nice."

She made her own clothes? She must not have been much of a seamstress, if her handmade clothes had made her look like such a- a stick. In a proper dress, it was clear that she would never be a great beauty, but she wasn't plain either.

He looked up, met her eyes, took a deep breath, and did his best to keep his lips closed when he smiled. "You look lovely," he said.

Rose looked away, her breath shuddering slightly. Vincent flinched back. He shouldn't have complimented her. He was a beast- he had to remember that! She wouldn't want to hear him say such things. If he were human, then perhaps- but he wasn't.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice quiet. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's… it's alright. Really. I should just- are you sure you're not going to eat dinner?"

"I'm sure."

Vincent shook his head once Rose's back was turned. He had ruined everything.

**End Notes**

Well, this was the best place to end the chapter. And no, Rose isn't going to stop being afraid of him JUST yet. Give it some time, my darlings. And yes, Vincent's shy. Give the guy a break, this is the first person he's talked to in ten years.

Next chapter, Rose explores the castle, and finds the library. Thought that door was supposed to be locked...


	7. Exploring the Castle

**Chapter Seven  
****Rose**

She was going to go mad.

Rose clasped her hands in her lap, and stared at her bedroom wall. She had been here- eight days now. She had been spending her time outside, away from Beast and his company, but that would not last. Soon she would be forced indoors, first by rain, then by snow. There was nothing to do in her room; no sewing, though she was an indifferent seamstress at best; no books, no writing utensils, no paper and no charcoal to sketch with.

She cast a wary look at her bedroom door, and bit her lip. It wasn't that she was afraid of Beast, because she was, though not for her life. But- oh, it was hard to think such things, terribly so. Nevertheless, she needed to think them, now.

She was a woman. The ways between a man and a woman were obvious; Gaston and his dalliances with the village girls, the farm animals, she knew the facts of life. She knew that- that- that the Beast was male. And that men, male creatures, typically had one thought foremost in their minds.

So no, she was not afraid for her life, but she was afraid for other things.

She closed her eyes, and concentrated on breathing slowly and evenly. She had to remain calm. Nothing had happened yet, so likely nothing _would_ happen. It wasn't as if Beast were even human! If he were, then perhaps there would be reason to worry, but he wasn't so her fears were obviously groundless.

Except, despite everything she thought to counter it, there was a small seed of doubt. Beast was a- was a beast, but he still _talked_ like a man, and wore clothing, and- but no. She had to remember that Beast was an _animal_, a very clever, talented animal. Only as long as she remembered that could she stay sensible.

She opened her eyes and stared at the wall again. If she thought about this any more, she would go mad. She had to spend time outside her room, distract herself, or she would continue to dwell on a problem that didn't exist.

But oh, she did wish Gaston were here! She would feel so much safer if he were.

She looked at the door again, and took a deep breath. If she would soon be trapped inside the castle, she would have to find some diversion. Perhaps exploring. Beast had never touched her- she was surely safe with him- but if she could find some room where it was obvious he never went…

That decided her. She would not cower in her room like some heroine in a poorly written romance novel. She would conquer her unreasonable, foolish fears, and perhaps she would find some books. Or, well, who knew in a magic castle like this? She might even find a prince, cursed into a statue or some such, and only the kiss of a beautiful maiden could free him.

At that she laughed, for she was no beauty, and would find no prince. There was Beast, but he was probably some poor forest creature that had been exposed to the castle's magic for so long, he had become magic himself. Pitiable, really, and nothing to be worried about.

Unless she started to change because of the magic.

She shook that thought up, and moved to the door. There she hesitated. Did she really want to leave her room and risk a meeting with Beast?

One last look around her bedroom decided her. She had to go out. She couldn't let fear rule her life.

Though she did grab the poker from the fireplace before she left.

0O0

In two hours of exploring, Rose had seen not a hint of Beast. It almost seemed that he was avoiding her.

The castle itself was very different from her early memories of it. The cold, gray stone was gone, replaced by wood floors and plastered walls. She tried most of the doors she came across, but found mostly empty, echoing rooms, without any sort of adornment or furniture. Their original functions were mysterious, and there were no clues left behind.

She found several bedrooms, though, that were just like hers save the color schemes. Her room had been done up in shades of green and gold, and she was pleased with it compared to the other rooms. Her room also had the comfort of familiarity, besides.

She found her way to a new wing of the castle, one that seemed devoted to servants, though of course there were none. Large, dormitory rooms were lined with dust covered beds. Such rooms were obviously avoided by Beast, but they were somehow less interesting then her own room. Rose spent very little time exploring them, and continued on.

She found a sitting room just as her ankle was beginning to hurt, and she sank into the nearest chair gratefully. She leaned her poker up against the side of the chair, within easy reach, and relaxed.

Then the shadows moved. She clapped one hand over her mouth to stifle her shriek, and shuddered once.

Beast regarded her with the saddest eyes she had ever seen. "I frightened you," he said. "I'll go."

"No, don't- it's alright, really," Rose said. She got ready to push out of the chair, but it wasn't necessary. Beast stilled, continuing to stare at her. "I just wasn't expecting- I've been exploring, you see, and… It was something of a shock, suddenly not being alone."

Beast closed his eyes, and bowed his head. "And the poker?"

"The- oh! Yes, the poker." Rose's mind raced like quicksilver. She didn't dare say it was incase he threatened her- it would be rude, it would possibly drive him into a rage. "I didn't know if there would be rats or- or anything like that," she said, and blushed. "I know it's foolish, doubtless you don't allow such things to move in, but… I'd rather have the poker and not need it, then need it and not have it."

Beast's face twisted into what she was sure was a smile. "Wise, on your part," he said. "I should still go. I make you uncomfortable."

"No, really, you… You don't have to go." She bit her lip, and smoothed one hand over her skirts. "Really, if you were a man- a human man- I would still be, well, nervous. I've never talked to anyone before, really." She spread her hands, helpless. "And I'm not very brave at all."

Beast's eyes widened. "But you are," he protested. "You're here, talking with me. That's very brave."

Rose shook her head. "No. It's not." But how could she explain how cowardly she really was? How her insides twisted at anything that wasn't part of her everyday existence? How much she longed to return back home. She would even accept Gaston's proposal, for wasn't that safety? To be loved by a good man who would provide for her, for her eventual children?

She sighed, and managed a small smile when Beast looked concerned. "It's nothing," she said. "This is just so far out of the ordinary for me…" She looked away.

"It would be out of the ordinary for anyone."

She nodded. It was easier, she realized, to talk with Beast so long as she didn't look at him. "Forgive me for asking, but I'm curious." How had he ended up the way he was? "How long have you lived here in the castle?"

Beast made a surprised sound, and then she heard a chair scraping against the floor. She stole a little look over at him, and her lips parted in surprised. He had taken a heavy chair she never would have been able to shift the slightest bit, and dragged it around so he could sit and face her.

She continued to watch as he settled himself, and realized how difficult his tail must make things. Proper chairs must have been so uncomfortable, with the tail pinned between his back and the chair. And working it through the seat of his pants- her cheeks grew warm at the very thought.

"How long have I lived her?" Beast shook his head. "All my life."

"I wouldn't have thought that," she murmured, surprised. "Have you always been alone?"

She wondered if Beast was uncomfortable, talking about his past. She would have been, if a relative stranger had started asking her questions. Yet he didn't seem to mind very much.

"Not always," he said. "When I was very young… But for the past ten years, yes, I have been alone."

Ten years. Her eyes widened, and she looked down at the floor. She couldn't even imagine. She was lonely and bored after only a few days, how much worse would it be for a year? Two years? She would not have been able to hold any sort of conversation, let alone a polite one!

"What about you?" Beast asked, his ears pricking towards her, rather like her mare, Cinnamon's did.

"What about me?" She tilted her head, and frowned. "I'm not sure I understand your question.

Beast leaned back, and plucked at one chair arm with his claws. "I meant where do you live?" he asked. "What is it like there?"

"Oh." She chewed her lip. Surely it would be safe enough to tell him that. "I live in a little village… I've gotten turned around, I only remember the general direction." She spread her hands, and shrugged. "But it's very small. My father's the blacksmith, and villages all around come to him."

"It must be interesting."

"It's not, really." She sighed. "Except for the people, I think it's much like this castle. Everything is the same, day to day, except for the weather. And the villagers, they don't really talk to me much."

"Why not? You're nice."

Rose surprised herself by laughing. She was nearly breathless once she stopped, and Beast looked quite put out. She smiled at him, easing his discomfort some, she imagined.

"I am the first person you've seen in ten years!" she reminded him. "You hardly have anything to compare me to. Except wild animals- and compared to wild animals, I am the brightest, nicest, bravest person you ever met!"

Beast looked startled, then contemplative. Finally, he nodded. "You're right. I still think you're nice, though."

"Thank you." Rose looked down, and then laughed a little. "I was exploring earlier. Would you like to join me? I imagine you know where all the empty rooms are, so we can avoid them."

Beast looked surprised, she decided. "You would want my company?" he asked.

"Any company is better then none," she said. She told herself that the little lie didn't count. And she would leave her poker behind.

0O0

It was easy to forget that Beast was a beast when she wasn't looking at him. They didn't have much to talk about, but the silences weren't nearly as uncomfortable as she feared. And when they did talk, there was certainly nothing wrong with the conversation. Beast answered all of her questions, though he never offered any information.

She shook her head, and smiled at his back. He was testing a door, to see if it was locked. Apparently he had spoken the truth, when he had said anyplace she wasn't to go would have a locked door. And he was governed by that rule as well. It was comforting, because one of the places he shouldn't go was her room- but that set off a disturbing train of thought. When she had fainted, he had been in her room… But no, there was a simple answer for that. He had been the one to take her to her room, so perhaps the magic knew when a person should and should not be in a room. That had to be it.

"The door's locked," Beast said, and turned around to face her. She dropped her gaze to the floor, and nodded.

"So we continue on."

"There's not much left," he said. "There's the second floor of the West wing, but that's mine- well, my room's down there. I don't think you want to go there. So we won't. Uh, and the other rooms aren't interesting in- I mean…"

Rose looked up, and hid a smile behind her hand. Beast continued to blunder on, managing to look more and more confused and awkward as he went. She finally took pity on him.

"You're right, we won't go there," she said. "But isn't there anything left?"

"The East wing," he mumbled, scuffing one paw against the ground. "But everything there is locked. I've never been able to get in."

"It can't hurt to try again. Besides, now I'm curious. Are there any windows we could peer through?"

Beast looked up at her. "I never thought of that."

Rose smiled, and gestured with one hand for him to lead the way. This wasn't so bad, she decided. And they had managed to uncover several interesting rooms, and a portrait gallery. She would have things to do, come winter.

Beast gestured at her to try the first door in the East wing. She glanced down the hallway, and nearly winced. It was such a long hallway, and the East wing surely made up the bulk of the castle's size. The other wings had been appropriately sized.

She placed one hand on the door knob- and gasped when it turned under her hand. The door swung inwards, and she stared into the darkened room with wide eyes.

"I thought you said the door was locked?"

"It was!"

Rose looked over at Beast, but he seemed as baffled as she. No help there, this was a new situation for him, too. She turned back to the room, but hesitated. It was so dark inside. If there were any windows, they were covered over.

Beast stepped up beside her, and Rose pretended to adjust her skirt, hoping he didn't notice her step sideways as she did so.

"I'll go first," he said, not looking at her. "In case there's anything. And I have better sight in the dark then you do, probably."

"Probably," she echoed, and pressed one hand to her throat. Heart hammering in her chest, she watched as Beast stepped into the darkness- and then the room wasn't dark any more.

Hundreds of thousands of candles all burst into flame at once. Chandeliers, candelabras, wall sconces, anywhere a candle could be placed, there it was. Rose stumbled in after Beast, who was busy rubbing at his eyes. The light must have been horrendous to him, coming as such a surprise.

The room was a dining room. Rose turned in place, marveling at the size of the room, at how even her light footsteps echoed. She had thought the dining room she and Beast ate dinner in had been large, but in comparison to this one, that room was positively cozy! There were at least two dozen tables throughout the room, with hundreds of seats. She shook her head, baffled at the size, and looked back at Beast.

"Why is there so much room?" she asked, suddenly confused. When faced with sitting room after sitting room, or bedroom after bedroom, or room enough for at least a hundred servants, the size of the castle had not hit her nearly as hard. "And where is everyone?"

Beast clenched his hands, and shook his head. "Once this was a castle, home to a prince," he said, his voice very nearly a growl. "Then a witch placed a curse upon it, and the people within. I was left behind to- to scare away anyone who-"

"Who tried to break the curse?" Rose finished, keeping her voice gentle. "But you haven't scared me away."

She had never thought any part of Beast could appear human-like. Even his hands made her think of paws, with the fur and the claws. But his eyes- they were so sad, with depths she could not begin to imagine. They were more human then anything she had seen before, and it was terrible for they were set in such a monstrous face.

"I couldn't," he whispered. "I can't… I just can't."

Rose nodded, unable to speak. She looked around the grand dining room one last time, and then walked to the door. After a moment, Beast followed, and when he stepped into the hall, the candles went out and the door swung closed behind him.

After a long, silent moment, Rose moved to the next door. She was almost afraid of what could be behind it, yet she reached for the doorknob anyways.

There was nothing frightening behind the door. Candles were already burning, lighting the ballroom. The windows were shrouded as well. She shared a glance with Beast, but neither of them were quite wiling to go in, despite the almost welcoming air. Rose closed the door, and they moved to the next one, far down the hall. It was, she realized, the last door. The other side of the building was probably taken up with something on the outside of the wall. Perhaps something that required an open wall, such as an armory or a blacksmith. She was drawing heavily on the fantasy books she had read, but it seemed reasonable.

She opened the third door, and gasped with surprise and pleasure.

It was a library. Shelves reached up to the ceiling, which was far above her head, as it was throughout the entire wing. Tables, comfortable chairs, and low bookcases filled the rest of the room, with massive windows along one wall. There were curtains, but they were all pulled back to let in the sunlight.

"Oh, just look at all the books," she said, clasping her hands together. "There must be thousands of them!"

"You like books?" Beast asked, looking at her with some surprise.

"I love them. Oh, this is so wonderful." Rose stared at the shelves, her expression delighted and hungry, and so completely missed the look Beast gave her.

**End Notes**

Next chapter is Vincent's turn to tell us what's going on. Yay for that! Anyways- questions? Comments? Weird news you have to share with someone or be driven to distraction? (You never know, I could use it in a story some day.)


	8. Just a Beast

**Chapter Eight  
****Morris**

There was no denying it any longer. His daughter was gone.

Not dead. He could not believe she were dead. If anything, his Rose was a survivor. Being lost in the woods would not last very long- she would find a village, he had to believe that. If her horse were injured, or worse, dead, that would explain why it was taking her so long to return home.

Morris ran one hand through his thinning hair, and stared out the front door. He'd propped it open, in case… But so far, every time he'd looked out, all he'd faced was disappointment.

Perhaps waiting wasn't the answer. What if Rose had been hurt? Even if her ankle had been broken all over again, or perhaps the other, she would still manage to find shelter and food. But not in winter. Time, therefore, was short.

That was it! He would go out into the forest, follow Rose's trail- but no. He knew nothing of woods craft. What he needed was someone who did. Someone who cared just as much as he did in finding Rose safe. The only answer, therefore, was Rose's friend Gaston. It was a perfect plan. With Gaston putting all his great hunting skills to the task, they would have Rose back in a day, perhaps two at most.

Now that he knew what he had to do, Morris was filled with urgency. He had to speak to Gaston, now. He almost forgot to close the front door as he went, but he remembered at the last moment. He left it unlocked, in case his first thought- that Rose was simply in another village, and her travel home was taking longer then expected- was true, and she came home to find him gone. If that were what happened, he didn't want her to wait outside while he chased wild geese with Gaston.

Of course, if she weren't in a village… What was it the young men said? Two birds with one arrow? Or was it 'cover your tracks'… No, that wasn't it. Well, whatever it was the young men said, it had merit. Better to chase wild geese and end up with nothing to show for it then skip the hunt entirely.

Gaston lived with his father, above the village tavern. It was there that Morris hurried, ignoring the polite greetings from other villagers. They wouldn't take it amiss, he knew. They all knew Rose had gone out riding one day and not come back.

The tavern itself was closed for the day. It would open later, when the men finished their days work and came in for a drink. There were no window, so Morris was unable to tell whether Gaston was cleaning up in the tavern for his father. To that end, he hurried up the outside stairs to the living quarters, and pounded on the door.

Monsieur D'lsigny opened the door, and Morris almost hit the man's shoulder with his fist. He pulled back, and tried out a faint smile. Gaston's father did not look any more welcoming, but Morris wasn't here to talk with Monsieur D'lsigny. He was here to talk to Gaston.

"Is Gaston in? It's urgent," he said.

Monsieur D'lsigny shook his head. "Check the stables," he said. "The boy has been out riding every day. Perhaps he is back now. Good day, monsieur Endicott."

Morris blinked when Monsieur D'lsigny very nearly slammed the door in his face, then shook his head. The elder D'lsigny tended the bar every night, and it was still early in the morning. Perhaps Morris had simply disturbed the man's rest.

Still, the less then polite treatment rankled some, though he did his best to ignore it. Rose was what mattered.

He hurried towards the inn, unable to comprehend that Gaston was going out riding every day. Why? Surely he knew that Rose- that was it! The poor boy, he probably blamed himself. Rose had never gone out riding without him before. He probably thought her horse had spooked from the guns and run off, and that if he'd been there, she would have been safe.

Luck was with him. He spotted Gaston leading his horse from the stables, and called out. The boy paused, turning to look in his direction.

"Yes, sir?" Gaston asked. Morris caught his breath, and then looked up to meet Gaston's eye.

"You're looking for Rose," he stated. Gaston's expression was enough to tell him he was right. "I want to go with you. She's my daughter. You can track her, but if she's frightened, or feverish, I have to be there!"

Gaston hesitated, looking between the horse, Morris, and the forest, and then finally nodded. "I'll saddle you a mount," he said.

"Thank you."

**Vincent**

The library had changed everything.

Vincent found himself both repelled and attracted by the large room. He hated the smell of leather warmed by the sun, dust, and paper. He didn't enjoy feeling dwarfed by the room, the ceiling eight to ten feet above his head, the space crammed with shelves and books, couches and tables and chairs.

Most of all, he hated how much time Rose spent in the library.

There was nothing to do except read books. She would curl up on one of the couches, or sit at one of the tables, and read all day. Except for excursions to visit her horse or eat a meal, or when she was forced by night to stop, the library was the only place to look for her. It was annoying- no, worse then that, it was infuriating.

He wished he didn't know why he was so upset, but it was pretty obvious. She was here, in his castle. She was a girl, and he needed a girl to break the curse. And instead of spending time with him, now that he was no longer hiding in the shadows, she was _reading_. How was he supposed to make her fall in love with him if she flat out _ignored_ him?

Vincent retreated to his rooms, and settled for brooding over the lilac flower.

He ran one claw over the bell jar, and half sighed, half growled. The slender stem floating in midair looked dull, just like any other cut flower. The flowers that had fallen to the tabletop looked like any old, dried lilac flowers. Only the single flower, at the tip of the stem, remained, and it glowed a soft, pale violet. Already the edges of the petals were starting to brown and dry up, though it would take the rest of the year to die.

"I know I don't have much time left," he growled, surprising himself by speaking out loud. He looked around, almost guilty, then returned to staring at the flower.

He had to do something. It had been three days. It couldn't be normal to read so much, could it?

He nodded, and turned to the door. She just needed to be reminded that there were other things to do then read. The walk over would give him time to figure out just what those things were.

Vincent shoved open the library door, and walked over to where Rose was sitting, reading a book. She'd chosen a spot at one of the tables, and didn't seem to notice he was there until he cast a shadow over the book's pages. She looked up, quickly, and he did his best not to cringe at the badly hidden fear in her eyes.

"Yes?" she asked, one hand tightening on the book.

Vincent opened his mouth, couldn't think what to say, and closed it again. Staring at her face, at her fear, wasn't helping him think, so he looked around the room. He finally looked down at the book, and licked his lips.

"What… are you reading?" he asked, gaze flicking up at her face and then down at the book.

"Oh." She sounded relieved. "I'm reading 'St. George and the Dragon'. Have you read it?"

Had he- "No." He shifted, and finally stopped looming over her, aware that her neck would probably get sore if she kept staring up at him like that. "I- no."

He could just see a bit of the book pages, where her arm didn't mask them. He was staring at it upside down, but he doubted he'd recognize any of the letters even if he was reading it properly.

He never had cared about his lessons.

"I'm sure you'd enjoy it. It's about a virtuous knight and the rapacious dragon he slays."

Vincent had to take a moment to wrap his mind around 'virtuous knight' and 'rapacious dragon'. Yes, dragons were probably marauding beasts that killed by the hundreds and ate whatever they could catch, but who had ever heard of a 'virtuous knight'? What little he knew of them suggested that they were men, complete with a man's desires and power enough to take what they wanted.

Knights were minor nobles, in a way, and the nobles Vincent had known hadn't been the nicest of people.

"I don't think I would," he said, paying her only half his attention. The other half was still figuring out how a knight, any knight, could even pretend to be virtuous.

And what did she mean by 'rapacious' anyways? Was it only a word used in the book? Or… He didn't know.

"Why not?" He looked down, and Rose was frowning at him. "It's a very good book, and the monster gets what it deserves."

He bristled. "Monster?" he murmured. "And what am I, then?"

It would have been nice to storm from the room, snarling and slamming doors, but he didn't. He instead used every bit of etiquette his tutor had been able to pound into his brain ten years ago, and stood up to his full height. It was horrible, how terrified Rose looked, but he kept the pain from his face as best as he could.

"I will take my leave now, my lady," he rumbled, keeping anger from his voice from sheer effort of will. He bowed, like a proper gentleman, one hand- _paw_- on his chest, the other at the small of his back. "Enjoy your books."

Then, and _only_ then did he sweep from the room, continuing to walk on his hind legs, shutting the library doors gently behind him- and then, only then, did he let his pain and grief show.

He stumbled into the formal dining room, the nearest place he could go to hide away for a few hours. He sobbed once, but didn't cry. Maybe he couldn't. Animals couldn't cry, and he was an animal, so…

He curled up under one of the long tables, and sniffled. His table was in a corner, and it felt marginally better to have a wall at his back, and another at his side. His chest and stomach hurt, partly from the occasional sob that rocked his frame, mostly because he was too big to curl up the way he was. The back of his neck was pressed hard against the table top, and he was sitting on his tail.

He didn't want to be a monster.

He didn't want to be cursed.

He didn't want to be alone.

But he hadn't been given any choice. Curse that sorceress. He still didn't know just what he'd done to anger her… But he'd do anything at all to take it back, take it all back, if he could only just look in a mirror without flinching. Have someone look at him without being afraid.

Not shedding every spring and fall would be kind of nice too.

He just didn't want to be a monster.

**Rose**

Rose stared at her book, but couldn't make out the words. That had been surprising.

She hadn't thought of Beast when she'd mentioned monsters. That connection had come after, when he'd asked what that made him. And of course, she'd thought _monster_ when she'd looked at him. Claws and fangs, fur and horns- he wasn't human, and he was too smart to be an animal.

Monster.

Then- and that was where she had trouble, because it was the very last thing she had expected- he'd stood up and _bowed_. Like out of a play, or a book. And he'd spoken so politely, as if he were a gallant swain and she a gentle, well bred lady instead of a blacksmith's daughter. Then he'd left, continuing with that well mannered imitation of a gentleman, and she had a very hard time thinking.

Except that, from the back, he didn't look very animalistic at all. Oh, yes, he had a tail, and he was obviously taller and broader then a human, but it wasn't _bad_, exactly.

She blushed, thinking about it. Beast was a _beast_. Obviously, she had been alone- well, not alone, but she knew what she meant- alone in the castle for far too long. She tried to think of Gaston, but it didn't exactly work. Gaston was handsome, but there was that little problem of thinking of him as something of a brother. Besides, all she managed to see was Beast's face when he bowed to her.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," she said, and slammed her book closed. Suddenly she didn't want to read about St. George any more. A glance out the window showed it was starting to get late, late enough for an early dinner and an even earlier night.

Beast wasn't there when she ate dinner, and something was odd about the food. It was still good, but it was very plain. Meals before hadn't been plain; even breakfast oatmeal had been turned into a culinary work of art. This meal, though, was like something she would cook. She lost much of her appetite, and went up to bed.

And then she couldn't sleep. No matter how she tossed and turned, she couldn't find a comfortable position, and the air was just a trifle too cool for comfort. She probably could have slept, if that were it, but of course her conscious had to join in the discomforts.

Beast had been nothing but polite and kind, and how did she repay him? Suspicion, fear, even calling him a monster! She had always claimed she was one of the nicest women in her village, but at the moment, she seriously doubted she was anything like 'nice'. Cowardly, perhaps, but not nice.

How could it be nice, to shrink back from someone who had never hurt her, never so much as raised a hand or his voice at her? How could it be nice to insult someone when he had done nothing but say he wouldn't like a book? For that matter, how could it be nice to lead her best friend on for years, letting him believe they were in love and going to be married?

Rose sat up in bed and sighed. She didn't know about the physical discomforts, but the mental ones were what got her out of bed. She found some thick winter socks, and a heavy robe, and wrapped up. She would find Beast, and apologize, and if only to herself she vowed she would do better.

The castle remained a little too dark, a little too chill, as she limped through the hallways. She considered going up into the West Wing, but didn't quite dare. If she couldn't find him anywhere else in the castle, and he didn't show up by breakfast, she would go up there. But she would make sure he wasn't outside first.

Her leg was aching by the time she reached what she thought of as the library wing. It was tempting to just go back to her room and sleep for what was left of the night. If only her conscience would allow it! It almost felt as if her ankle had been re-broken during her search, it hurt so badly.

The first room she looked in was the over-large dining room. She almost turned away and moved on to the ballroom, but something stopped her. There weren't any lit candles, the curtains were closed, but there was… something.

She moved a few steps in, wincing every time her sore foot touched the ground, and listened. It was a rhythmic sound, out of place in an empty room. At first she dismissed it as her breathing, but it wasn't.

Beast.

Her heart sank down to the ground. He was here, in this dark room. He would be angry with her, and she… She would just have to be brave and face his anger. He wouldn't hit her, probably.

She walked towards the sound of Beast's breathing, one hand outstretched to try and keep from running into tables or chairs. She finally had to stop, a table between her and Beast.

"Beast?" she whispered, feeling her way around the table. He must have been at the very back of the room. Probably watching her stumble about in the dark, she thought with some irritation. The irritation faded when she remembered _why_ she was stumbling around in the dark. "Beast? Please, say something."

He didn't. She shouldn't have been surprised, but she was. Further, she'd rounded the table and she could hear him breathing behind her, still. He couldn't be on the table, it would never support his weight.

Then again, maybe it would. She waved one hand over the tabletop, very cautiously, and didn't hit anything.

That left under the table. Rose bit her lip, and knelt down, ignoring how her leg went hot, then cold, then numb.

"Beast?" she whispered, and shoved aside two chairs. She reached forward, and nearly flinched back. She hadn't touched him, but there was an aura of heat, and the faintest tickles of fur across her palm.

Just what had she almost touched? Not his back, that was covered by his cape. Unless it had been taken off… Oh dear, she wished she had one candle, at least one.

As if in answer to her thoughts, a not entirely absurd idea, considering her situation, a small candelabra lit up. There were only three candles, yet it cast enough light for her dark-adjusted eyes. The room seemed almost bright, or at least like an overcast evening.

And she could see Beast as well.

A harder heart then hers would have broken. He was curled up on his side in a ball, knees clutched to his chest. Maybe he was a- a monster, but he wasn't a cruel or evil one. He looked like a lost little boy, a little confused, a little frightened, but mostly sad.

Before she could think about it, Rose reached forward and touched his elbow. She pulled back almost at once, but he didn't wake.

She stared at the palm of her hand. She hadn't expected that. His fur was actually soft!

She stifled a giggle, and looked down at the floor. A deep breath later, and she had control over herself again. From the look of him, she would have expected a bear's heavy, coarse pelt, or a wolf's thick, stiff fur. Instead, she found it was as soft as a cat's fur, if thicker. She had been able to feel the bone of his elbow through the fur, but had been like touching a piece of hardwood swaddled in wool batting, wrapped in velvet.

She touched his elbow again, and left her hand there. She couldn't help but work her fingers through his fur a little, and that was what woke him.

The tiny smile that had been playing about her lips faded. He'd looked so very sad, his eyes human in their despair, and then he had just closed off.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, and bit her lip.

Beast stared up at her, not talking, but… Well, she would talk then.

"I honestly wasn't thinking of you, I swear it. I don't think you're a monster, not a real one, and you're not frightening at all. It's just…" She looked down at her hand, at the fur her hand rested on, and continued. "It's only that you look so- so _frightening_, but you're not, and I'm sorry I didn't pay any attention to how you really are."

Beast blinked, and uncurled a little. "You- you're apologizing?" he asked, his voice rougher then usual. Whether it was from just waking up, or something else, Rose couldn't begin to guess. "To me?"

She looked up and met his eyes. This close, in the faint candlelight, they appeared more human then ever.

"Of course to you. Do you see anyone else here?"

"No." And he smiled.

**End Notes**

Believe it or not, the first half of this chapter- Morris, most of Vincent's POV- was written... a month ago. This is just a 'y'know what, I'm ahead on my daily word count for NaNoWriMo (if you don't know what it is, Google it, it's fun), I might as well finish this chapter'. But yes. So, Morris- just letting everyone know he's still hanging around. (Did we already do that? Never mind.) Vincent... Well, poor boy. Got called a monster, however indirectly.

And Rose... At least she's starting to develop a backbone, that's all I can say.


	9. Something Kind

**Chapter Nine  
****Rose**

By the end of the week, things had settled down once more. Rose didn't spend nearly as much time in the library, instead choosing to talk with Beast. What they talked about didn't matter, really; occasionally, he would impart some of the castle's history to her, or the particular significance of this painting or that suit of armor, but usually they talked about Rose's village.

More specifically, they talked about the people in the village. Beast was fascinated with her stories. The simplest things became delightful adventures.

Such as when the triplets had tried cutting their hair in what they thought was the latest style. Or when Old Man Waller's pigs had gotten loose during Harvest Fair, managing to ruin the pot luck dinner and leading the men of the village on a merry chase. Beast especially liked hearing about when Gaston had thought he'd been hunting a deer, and ended up hunting one of his friends nearly the whole day.

It wasn't so odd that Beast preferred to hear about Gaston getting into trouble, she decided. Gaston was a hunter, and Beast was just the sort of creature hunters wanted to hang on their walls. Rose managed to keep her talk of Gaston to those stories, though she couldn't help the warmth in her voice.

Well, he was her best friend. Surely Beast could understand that.

Rose woke up late one morning. Her talk with Beast the night before had run on longer then usual- they had somehow gotten on the subject of Christmas, birthdays, and table manners, not in that order- and she had gotten to bed at such a late hour, it was actually early.

She scrubbed at her eyes, clearing them of sleep, and then looked out the window. At first, she didn't realize what the flakes of white were. Then, she smiled as she figured it out.

"The first snow of the season," she whispered, and felt a stab of forbidding. Her horse wasn't well enough to travel yet. Soon, there would be snow, snow, and more snow. It would be unsafe, unwise, and nearly impossible to travel through the forest. She would be here, all winter, with only Beast for company.

"And is that so bad?" she asked herself. She had to think, though.

Certainly there was nothing wrong with her surroundings. The castle was warm, without any real drafts. There was the library to stave off boredom, Cinnamon was healing quite nicely, there was plenty of food… And there was always Beast.

She sighed. Beast. Of course she had to consider him. He was kindness itself, it seemed. Well, except when he was sulking, which he did do. He never raised his voice, she never worried he might hit her during a disagreement, so what was there to worry about?

Rose found herself staring at herself in the mirror. _What's to worry about indeed?_ her reflection seemed to say.

She turned away, and bit her lip. Of course. She should have paid attention to the days. Rose pressed one hand against her stomach, and shook her head. Hopefully the castle would know what she needed.

It did. She readied herself for the day and sighed. Well, hopefully she'd have enough time to eat a light breakfast before the castle made the food vanish. If she didn't hurry, there wouldn't be anything to eat until lunch.

She did manage to get some breakfast, and saved several fruit and cheese pastries for Beast. If he was all ready awake, he surely wouldn't mind the snack. And if he was still asleep, he'd appreciate having something to tide him over until lunch. She wrapped the pastries in a napkin, and headed for the library.

She pressed her hand against her stomach again, and sighed. It wasn't so bad. She had heard the town gossip. The triplets were nearly always laid up in bed for nearly a week, though none of the women were sure if it was just their attention seeking ways, or real pain.

Rose left the pastries for Beast in the library. Since he wasn't there, he wasn't awake. She always spent her mornings there, after all. It was a logical place for him to look for her. She glared up at the far off ceiling. "Leave them there, or see that he gets them somehow. He should have something to eat."

She grabbed her book, and then picked out three more. It was going to be a long day, and somehow she wasn't looking forward to reading quite as much as normal.

She winced, and sighed. Well, she had Nature to thank for that, didn't she?

**Vincent**

It was late by the time he woke up. Vincent stared at the snow falling onto the balcony, and growled. There was no one to hear him, no one to be frightened by the feral sound. He could growl if he wanted to, and did he want to.

Vincent hated winter. Winter brought Christmas, a holiday that brought no joy, and the New Year, which only meant that another year was gone, and he was that much closer to being a beast forever.

Except- his ears pricked forwards- Rose was here this year. They had already discussed how she would need to stay over the winter. He had time, hopefully long enough for her to fall in love with him. Perhaps this winter would be a good one.

He dragged his claws through his fur, and grunted. Well, he still didn't like winter. It only emphasized how he'd changed. You were supposed to get _cold_ in winter, and he didn't. It was almost disappointing.

There were three pastries beside the lilac flower. Vincent stared at them, curious, and then shrugged. He must have missed breakfast. Why the castle had gifted him with a snack, he didn't know. Maybe it was pleased with how his relationship with Rose was going. That had to be it.

The pastries didn't do much about his hunger, but they did take the edge off. It would be hopeless to try and find food in the kitchen. The only thing for it was to find Rose and distract himself until noon.

She wasn't in the library.

Vincent checked the entire East wing, twice. She wasn't in the library, she wasn't in the formal dining room, and she wasn't in the ballroom. She wasn't _anywhere_. He checked the stables, and found her horse let out into one of the paddocks. It moved to the far side of the paddock, away from him, but seemed otherwise unafraid.

Rose, however, wasn't anywhere outside. He would have been able to smell her.

He padded back inside, scowling. There was only one place left to look. He didn't _want_ to go to her room. What if she was still asleep? And besides, the castle probably wouldn't let him anywhere near her bedroom. Still, it couldn't hurt to check.

The stairs were still there when he started up to the southern wing. Once, the second story had been devoted to guests of the castle, with the first being for the servants that cared for them. Now, Rose was there.

The castle didn't bar his way. It should have, Vincent thought, but it didn't. Perhaps she was somewhere he hadn't thought of, not her room but- no, he would _know_ if she were exploring. He knew she was in her room.

Nothing for it but to knock on the door.

He cleared his throat, and hesitated. Rose's door was just like every other door, except- and the castle was responsible, he would have remembered such a decoration- for a single rose carved where a nameplate should go. It stood out, pale and new against the older, polished wood.

It was a door. It wasn't going to hurt him.

Why wasn't he knocking?

It took another ten minutes of staring before Vincent was able to lift one hand and then, of course, he stopped.

Maybe he should just talk. If she were asleep- though he doubted it- she probably wouldn't wake up from _talking_.

"Ah, Rose? Are you in there?"

He didn't hear anything right away. She was asleep, she didn't want to talk to him, she- judging by the footsteps he heard, she was walking towards the door. Limping heavier then usual.

Vincent closed his eyes, ignored how his stomach clenched, and dared to look.

The smell hit him like a slap to the face.

"Rose! Are you hurt? I smell blood? What happened?"

Rose frowned, and brushed several strands of hair behind one ear. "Nothing happened, Beast. I'm fine."

"But I smell blood." She was bleeding. Somehow, Rose had gotten hurt. And when he found out how…

"Beast?" Rose bit her lip. The odd hesitancy in her voice caught his attention as nothing else would. "You do… know the facts of life, don't you?"

He didn't understand. He stared at her, as her face slowly turned a bright, tomato red, and then his breath caught in his throat. The facts of- oh. Oh. That. "Yes," he said, as quickly as he could, so she didn't think she had to explain. "I just- this- blood is part of that?" His voice squeaked on the end.

"Yes, it is." She rubbed her cheeks, and laughed, once. "Sorry, sorry. You should have seen my dad. He-" she stopped, and the embarrassment faded slightly, grief moving in. "Well, he wasn't very comfortable," she finally said, and tried to smile. "If you don't mind, I just want to curl up and be miserable."

"Do you have to be miserable in your room?" Vincent asked. The scent of blood wasn't so very strong. It just wasn't what he associated with Rose. "I… I don't care, if that's what you're worried about."

Rose stared at him for a long moment, making him nervous. Only a quick look down at his feet reassured him that he hadn't suddenly turned human again. And he was pretty sure he hadn't grown a second head while talking. So, he must have said something wrong, but before he could apologize she was smiling and stepping out.

"If you don't mind an occasional complaint about discomfort, I wouldn't mind being miserable outside my room. It's a bit boring in there, anyways."

Vincent smiled. "It was a bit boring out here, but not any more."

**Rose**

The week passed fairly quickly, and Rose was relieved when it was over. The necessary cloths and garments disappeared from her wardrobe, and Beast lost the pinched look between his eyes. He hadn't mentioned the blood again, but she knew he was aware of it, and it was embarrassing whenever she thought about it. He could _smell_ the blood… Oh, her father and Gaston had always known. Her discomfort and irritability had practically shouted it from the rooftops. Still, they were her father and Gaston. Hardly embarrassing.

Beast was different. And if she kept thinking about it, she was going to be too embarrassed to leave the room.

Rose rubbed at her cheeks, and sighed. Now that she was comfortable again, she wanted to go outside. There were several inches of good packing snow on the ground now, and it had been a while- since before she'd broken her ankle, actually- since she'd had a snowball fight or built a snowman or a snow fort.

Maybe she could get Beast to join her. You couldn't have a snowball fight with only one person, and it was just more fun to play outside with someone else.

She grinned, and hurried from her room. Now all she had to do was convince him, somehow. Beast could be the easiest man to talk into something, but only when he wanted to be talked into it- did that make any sense? She wasn't sure it did. Well, if Beast wanted to go out and play in the snow, but wanted to be persuaded into it, she wouldn't have any difficulty. If he didn't want to go out, then things might get a bit hard.

Rose stopped walking, putting one hand out against the hallway wall for balance. She had just thought of Beast as a man. A man, like any man in the village- Gaston, her father, the book shop owner- when had that happened?

When had she stopped thinking of Beast as a beast?

She shook her head, and started walking. Whatever her thoughts, she needed to eat breakfast before she did anything. Perhaps some food would help get her thoughts in order.

Beast was waiting in the dining room. As was his new custom, he pulled her chair out for her, pushed it in when she sat down. Then he took his own seat, and they started in on the food.

Rose found herself staring at him as she ate. Not that she meant to, exactly. It was certainly rude. But- how, _how_ could she have forgotten what he was?

When she was looking at him, it was hard not to notice the fur and fangs. She just didn't think about them, no more then she thought about her own appearance, beyond 'hair tied back or left loose'. When she did think of him, it was of his voice, his awkward manners, and his unthinking kindness. It was no wonder she had changed how she thought of him.

And was that really such a bad thing? Certainly Beast was kinder then several men in the village.

If she kept thinking about this, she wouldn't eat anything, and then Beast would ask what was wrong. And just how could she explain what she had been thinking about? With that in mind, she smiled at herself and started eating.

"Beast?" she asked, once the breakfast things had vanished from the table. "Would you like to go outside and have a snowball fight?"

Beast's eyes widened, and then he chuckled. "Outside? In the cold? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Rose grinned, because that meant he did want to have a snow ball fight. He just wanted to be convinced. And she could do that.

**End Notes**

Argh, there was supposed to be an argument in this chapter! Instead, I gave the characters leeway to decide what was happening. So I end up with this. (Maybe it can be a leadup to the argument next chapter. Because it will happen!) Anyways, all I can say is that I hate the ending, because it just seems blah to me. Then again, I might just think that because my brain went splat halfway through writing this.


	10. Something There

**Chapter Ten  
****Vincent**

He had never had a snowball fight before. _Ever_. As a noble, such games had been considered beneath him. Running around, flinging snow at another person, stumbling around and getting soaking wet, that was the sort of thing commoners did, or servants. Never mind that it looked like fun. For him were lessons, learning to fence, to ride a horse, the manners required for someone who would spend his days in the King's court.

Well, he wasn't a noble now. And if he wanted to get beaten in a snowball fight by a little wisp of a girl, that was his decision.

Another snowball hit the side of Vincent's face, puffing into a cold powder upon contact. He mock-growled, and threw his own missile.

Rose dodged around a tree, laughing. In seconds, she was back out, throwing another snowball. This time Vincent managed to dodge, though there were no handy trees for _him_ to hide behind. He had to make do with a bench and a bush, both of which were rather too small to provide proper cover.

Snow had melted into his fur, soaking it so he looked like he was half drowned. His cloak, having quickly gotten sodden and heavy- velvet was useless in snow- had been discarded at the very beginning of the game. Where his fur wasn't plastered wet against his skin, it was powdered in snow.

Rose hadn't gotten off easy either, though her skill in the fight was much better then his. She was small enough, and agile enough, to duck and dodge snowballs. Her aim was also much better. Still, he hadn't done too badly. Her hair was coming down out of the braid she'd put it in, her skirts were soaked, her wool cloak was dusted white from snow.

"That's it!" he bellowed, after getting hit yet again. He yelped when Rose's next snowball hit him square in the face. "I'm going to get you for that!"

"You have to catch me first!" Rose yelled back, and ducked around another tree. Vincent gathered up enough snow for a snowball as big as his head, and threw it in her direction. It exploded against a tree, and she ran off, laughing.

The garden looked like a battle field, the snow churned up and trees sporting white patches on their trunks. The only place they hadn't gone was into the hedge maze, if only because the hedges had kept the snow from falling very deeply inside. Yet this time, Rose ducked into the maze.

Vincent huffed, and took the moment to shake off. Snow and water droplets were flung off, and only then did he stalk towards the maze.

"Can't hide in there," he warned. "There's only one way out, and I'm sitting on it!"

He heard Rose laugh, and grinned in reply. This _was_ fun, he was glad she'd talked him into it. They'd have to do it again.

He flicked one ear at the maze, and snickered to himself. It was quite obvious to him that Rose was not coming out, not unless he made her. Or told her that he was too cold to continue, since he was sure that even though he wasn't, she was. There were benefits to fur, definitely. And benefits to being as big as he was; even half soaked, he wasn't really all that cold, with all the running around he'd been doing. But Rose was smaller, didn't have fur, and her clothing was just as wet as his fur. Time, past time, to go back inside to lounge by the fire.

"Rose?" he called, and listened. "Rose, I think I've lost."

Nothing. Could she be out of hearing? Or- no, he could just hear her calling his name.

"Beast?" Worry, and a great deal of it. "Where are you?"

"At the entrance!" He stood up on his hind legs, but the hedges were higher then he was, even standing. "Are you lost?"

"Yes!"

"Stay where you are, I'll come get you!" Well, that explained why she hadn't come out. Though how she could get lost with the snow on the ground, he didn't know.

He quickly learned, however, just why Rose couldn't follow her footsteps back. There were no footsteps. After taking the first corner into the maze, the snow just disappeared. There was leaf litter, but it, and the ground, was frozen solid. Vincent didn't know how it'd happened to turn out this way, but it had.

Though he might have to talk to the castle about trimming some hedges later on… Say to about five feet?

Only the fact that Vincent knew the maze from all his childhood exploring kept him from being lost. It took up at least a quarter of the garden, which took up most of the front of the castle. And the gardener who had planned the maze had a fiendishly tricky mind. There were no straight lines, and you ended up going in circles without meaning to.

But Vincent had grown up exploring the maze, and knew it better then he knew the castle hallways. So he felt perfectly comfortable running along towards Rose, or where he thought she was.

She was there, in a dead end near the center of the maze. And so was a patch of ice he didn't notice until it was too late.

Rose shrieked when he slipped and fell towards her. Vincent would have yelled as well, except he was completely breathless. He fell into her, felt her fall back, and panicked.

When they landed, Vincent supposed it was a very good thing he'd managed to catch himself on his forearms. If he'd actually fallen on Rose, well… He was very big and very heavy, and she would have ended up with broken bones at least.

Rose had her hands on his shoulders, as if she could hold him up off her that way. Foolish, really, considering… Her arms were shaking, just the slightest bit, and her eyes were wide. He felt much the same, as if he'd been running full out for a day and a night and couldn't catch his breath for the life of him.

"Are… are you alright?" he managed to ask, cursing how he stuttered.

"Yes." Rose took a deep breath, and half smiled. "Do you think you could let me up?"

"What?" Vincent blinked. "Oh, yes! Sorry." He scrambled to his feet, careful not to accidentally step on her. He held out his hand, and Rose took it. He marveled at that simple gesture even as he pulled her to her feet.

She could have let go of his hand once she was steady on her feet. She could have, that is, but didn't. The entire time Vincent guided her out of the maze, she left her hand in his. And wonder of wonders, she didn't seem to realize she had done so, either.

**Rose**

"I think I'm ready to go inside now," Rose said, and smiled up at Beast. He smiled back, and nodded.

"So am I," he murmured. "We're both soaked."

As there was nothing but agreement to say to that, she simply nodded. Her wet skirts were uncomfortable, and his wet fur was surely just as bad. He continued walking on his hind legs, why she didn't know, but it was… interesting. It made him look just a little bit more human, though no human would wander around in winter wearing only a pair of trousers.

The kitchen door opened for them, and simply stepping into the castle enfolded Rose in warmth. Every stove and fireplace in the kitchen had a fire going, and the air smelt of pine and, oddly, baking bread. Oddly, because she could see no bread, baking or otherwise.

"I think the castle's telling us it's time for lunch," Beast murmured. "But I, for one, want to get dry first."

"Me too," she agreed, and plucked at her skirt. The wool clung to her legs, clammy and cold and absolutely disgusting. "Will there still be food when we're ready to eat?"

"Ask nice, but I don't promise anything."

Rose sighed, and took her leave of Beast. On the trip back to her room, she discovered all manner of little drafts and cold patches she never would have noticed normally. There weren't many of them, but each time she found one chills raced up and down her spine.

She found the most wonderful surprise waiting in her room. In the exact middle, on a low, metal stand, was a bathing tub filled nearly to the brim with water so hot, steam curled up from it. The fire in the fireplace was pouring out even more heat, a small table with a covered dish had been set near the chair she used for reading.

In short, the castle had prepared a bath and, she hoped, a warm lunch. She quite simply couldn't be happier.

0O0

Rose chuckled a little, and pulled a book off one of the shelves. "I like this one the best, I think," she said. "I still don't know why you don't want to read it."

Beast held up his large hands, and gave her an arch look. "Claws and paper don't mix very well, Rose," he told her. "Besides, my eyes… don't focus quite right."

She frowned. "Really?" If that were true, it was possible he didn't even know how to read. The poor man. "If you want, I could read out loud."

_That_ got her the strangest look she'd ever seen. Almost as if she'd just suggested he don a gown and host a tea party for the local wildlife. She bit her lip to keep from laughing at the mental image, and simply stared up at him.

"If you want to," he grumbled.

"Well, I don't have to. If you're not interested."

"I don't see the point." Beast glared at the books around him. "Give me one good reason why you enjoy reading, and _maybe_ I'll consider listening. If you'd read aloud."

Rose smiled, and moved over to one of the library couches. Once she'd gotten comfortable, she looked back at him. "I'll try to explain. Sit down, please? I'm getting a crick in my neck."

He shuffled over, and sat down on the floor next to her. Rose bit her lip, and considered saying she'd meant on the couch… But maybe he had a good reason for picking the floor. His tail, perhaps, or his legs. And this way, their eyes were nearly on the same level.

"For me," she said, picking her words carefully. "Reading is an escape. Back home, whether the day had been boring, or the triplets had been particularly snide, or I'd just had a bad day, at least I could go home and read. And it didn't matter how the day had gone, because I was reading about people going out and having adventures, facing challenges worse then mine and triumphing over them."

She looked down at her skirt hem, and sighed. "Also, I can't really do very many things, with my ankle. Other girls, they can gossip while shopping, or spend time chatting with their friends, but I can't. If I stand for too long, my ankle starts to hurt, so I have to get everything done before then. Books kept me from getting too lonely, when I was younger."

Rose bit her lip, all too suddenly plunged into memories of her childhood. Oh, when she'd met Gaston, things had gotten better, but he'd been a boy. He'd had his own friends before she'd arrived, and she certainly couldn't have expected him to spend all his time with her. She'd spent a great deal of time alone in her house, nothing to do but read. They'd had a cat, but it hadn't eased her desperate need for a friend when she was lonely. Being shy was a curse, when you were young and in a new town.

Beast cleared his throat, and shifted until one arm was draped over the couch's arm, his chin resting on his bicep. "If… I mean, if you don't mind, I guess I'd like to hear you read."

Rose smiled in reply, cleared her throat, and opened the book to the first page.

She had just finished reading the second chapter, and was considering calling a break, when Beast growled. She froze, and looked over, her eyes wide.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Rose," Beast said, his teeth showing. "Why are you petting my head?"

"I- what?" Confused, she looked at her hand. She was, indeed, petting his head. Or at least, she had been. At the moment, all she was doing was resting her hand on the back of his neck, fingers tangled in his fur. "Um, I'm not sure?"

He growled again, and pulled away. "Don't do it again."

"Alright. I need a drink, my throat's getting dry. Ah…" Rose stood up, and looked around. Somewhat to her surprise, she spotted a pitcher on one of the tables, and two glasses. Beast, apparently, was expected to join her. She looked down at him, and decided not to say anything. He was looking less then pleased.

When had she started- she blushed a little, thinking about it- petting him? And for Heaven's sake, why? Yes, his fur was soft, but she hadn't even noticed what she was doing. Well, now she would be able to keep from doing it.

The water was ice cold, just what she needed to cool her blushes. She had almost managed to get herself under control- after all, she certainly hadn't meant to pet him, she hadn't meant any insult, and she wouldn't do it again- when she broke out into another round of blushes. It was just that petting Beast, thinking about it, it should have felt… intimate, somehow.

"Oh, I'm being ridiculous," she muttered to herself.

"What was that?"

Rose shook her head. Of course he'd have great hearing. "Nothing, really. Where did we leave off?"

Beast frowned, but held up the book. "Halfway through the page, I think."

"Right." She moved back over to the couch, and got comfortable. In minutes, she was ensnared in the lives of the characters, as the powers of light struggled against the forces of darkness.

And Beast growled again.

Rose's first thought was about the book- he'd been insulted by the St. George story she'd been reading before, after all. But this part of the book didn't have anything about animals or monsters, so what…?

She turned to look at him, and blinked. Her hand was buried in the fur on the back of his neck, and she had no idea how that had happened.

"Ah…"

"Rose?" he asked, voice low and very, very dangerous.

"Yes?"

"_Stop __**touching**__ me_."

She snatched her hand back, pressed her palm against her chest. "I really didn't mean to," she began, but Beast interrupted her.

By roaring.

In a split second, he was on his feet and furious. Rose shrank back against the couch, and clapped her hands over her ears. She couldn't understand a word he was yelling, he was speaking too fast and too loudly for that. But then, she didn't have to understand the words to know the feelings.

Insult. Anger. And perhaps not so oddly, fear.

"Beast?" she asked, her voice small, timid, and all together too quiet to get his attention. She bit her lip, and decided to wait him out, though her stomach was churning with nerves. Any minute now and she'd have to burp, probably.

Beast snarled, and stopped yelling. "Well?" he asked. As if she were supposed to have understood all that!

"Yes?" she asked, hoping he'd elaborate. What she hadn't been expecting was the expression he got. Distraught, horrified, disappointed, miserable… all that and more, and a harder heart then hers would have hurt for him.

"You think… Well I'm not!" Beast's fur stood up on the top of his head and along the back of his neck, and he bared his teeth.

Rose shook her head. If anything, that only made him angrier.

"I'm not! I am not an animal!" Desperation moved into his voice, his eyes, and he began to pace. "Just because I have fur- I talk, don't I? I can walk on two legs, I have _thumbs_, I'm intelligent- I'm not some dog, not your_ pet_!"

Rose blinked, once, and started to talk. She thought better of it, simply staring at Beast as he paced and ranted, and she tried to figure out what he was yelling over.

Of course he wasn't a pet, or an animal. Hadn't she figured that out weeks ago?

Except, she realized, he didn't know that she had figured it out. What he knew was that she had been petting him, had apparently said yes to something, had… Well, seen from his point of view, she had probably been arguing that he _was_ an animal.

That had to be stopped.

Before he ripped up the carpet or broke something.

Rose put the book aside, stood up, and smoothed down her skirts. Beast was paying her no attention, completely caught up ranting to himself. It was almost, she thought to herself, cute. If you ignored how he was growling like a rabid dog, that was.

"Beast?" she asked, and stepped into his path. Beast stopped short, rearing up- and _up_- onto his hind legs.

"What?" he snapped.

Rose took a deep breath, stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around Beast, as much as she was able. "Of course you're not an animal," she whispered, and pressed her cheek to his chest. "I never thought you were."

He'd gone completely stiff, more rigid then a board, but at her words he began to relax. She could feel it, under her hands and cheek, as he began to breathe again. Finally, though, when his hands came to rest on her shoulders, she knew he was ready to listen.

"Let's sit down- on the couch this time."

Rose let go of Beast, but kept one hand on his arm. His fur was very soft, and she realized she could understand why she had started stroking his fur without intending to. All she had to do was get him to realize why, and then hopefully he wouldn't be angry any more.

She had to move the book before she could sit. Beast only sat once she had taken her spot. Rose picked up his hand, and studied it. How much larger it was, compared to her hand. The claws that tipped each finger, the rough pads on his palms and fingertips, the short, still soft fur. He had lovely hands.

She looked up, and nearly smiled at the befuddled look he had. "This isn't the hand of an animal," she said, and carefully traced one claw with a finger tip. "It's the hand of a man. I know that. I've known it for a long time."

"Then why were you petting me?"

"Because…" Rose took a deep breath, and told her stomach to quiet down. "...It feels nice."

"What?" Beast blinked. "It what?"

"Your fur feels nice," she repeated, and sighed. "I really didn't mean to. It was just… It's not because I think of you as a dog or anything."

He looked over at her, then down at his hand. "My fur feels nice?"

"Like velvet, only softer," she told him.

"Oh."

"Do you really mind that much?"

Slowly, Beast closed his hand over Rose's, and squeezed just the slightest bit. "Not… any more."

**End Notes**

Yes, I know, dreadfully late and I have really no excuse... Well, none that I myself accept. But from this point on, not only are we shifting away from Disney's Beauty and the Beast, we're completely breaking away from it. _guilty look_ I didn't actually intend for that to happen when I started writing this story... honest!


End file.
